#richie jerimovich x you

[the-hinky-panda]

The Hare Series: Part I

Title: The Hare

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Richie Jerimovich x Reader

Summary: You and your brother leave Ireland to open a pub in Chicago...just a couple blocks away from the new restaurant "The Bear." Connections are made and maybe The Bear and The Hare will help each other become successful.

Warnings: mentions of suicide

“So,” you set down a fresh pint of beer on the bar in front of the patron who’s been entertaining your patrons with wild stories for the last two hours, “how long has your friend been gone?” 

His good natured demeanor falters for a split second. “What are you talking about?” 

You had just opened the corner pub two weeks ago, around the same time that the deli down the block had closed for renovations. People who frequented the deli ended up at your business, including some of the people working on the restaurant. There were a few that you saw on smoke breaks that hadn’t crossed the threshold yet, but some like Fak and Angel, had shown up for drinks a couple times. Tonight was the first time that the tall, charismatic, blue eyed Richie made his way into the establishment. Two beers in, you figured out why. He and his best friend used to hang out here when the previous owner had it. Under new management, and Irish management at that, meant the familiarity went away with the sale of the bar. 

“Your friend, Mikey,” you wipe down the bar. “How long has it been since he passed?” 

“What makes you think he’s gone, Irish?” he counters, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear and lighting it. 

“You just spent the last two hours entertaining my patrons with stories of the shenanigans you and he got up to in here. I figured if he were still around, you wouldn’t be here alone.” 

He laughs. “Shenanigans. Way to keep it authentic. The accent’s not bad either.” He rubs his forehead with the back of hand and blows the smoke out the side of his mouth. “You always ask personal questions to people trying to drink away their fucking problems?” 

“Only if it looks like the person needs to talk about their fucking problems.” 

“Well, I don’t. Thanks anyway.” 

“Fair enough.” 

You move away from him, cleaning glasses and snacking bowls as you move down the bar and talk to the other patrons. By the time you ring the last call bell, Richie has disappeared. You’re surprised to find yourself disappointed in his departure but closing up the bar keeps you busy until the last patrons leave. It takes another hour to clean the dishes, wipe down the bar and tables, and make sure the kitchen staff put the small kitchen right before they leave. 

With all lights off and doors locked, you start the short walk down a few blocks to the shitty apartment you’re renting with your brother as you work together to get the pub off the ground. Your commute takes you past the closed deli and that’s where you see Richie, leaning on the brick face, smoking a cigarette. The lights are on in the restaurant, dim behind the newspaper covering the window, so he must have come over to work on the renovations. The drywall dust on his pants and shoes confirm it. You cross the street and he nods at you. 

“Kick everyone out?” 

You smile. “The entertainment left.” 

He offers you a cigarette but you shake your head. “You gotta get better entertainment.” 

“We’re still working out some issues. Never opened a pub across the pond before.” 

“How many do you have over there?” 

“Two. One in our hometown of Thurles, another one down in Cork. This one,” you point across the street, “this is just practice for Dublin. Figured cutting our teeth in Chicago would be a good training run.” 

“If you can make it here…” 

You nod towards the newspaper covered windows. “Well, you’re certainly trying.”

“Trying. Yeah.” He drops the cigarette on the ground and grinds it out with his shoe. “It’s been almost a year.” 

You know the deli has just closed a couple weeks ago. “A year?” 

“Since my friend, Mikey, died.” He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s been almost a whole fucking year. I can’t believe it.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He gives you a serious look. “You actually sound like you mean that.” 

“I do.” You lean back against the brick wall next to him. “When I was nineteen, my little sister was killed in a car accident. I was bartending at our family pub and called her to come pick up our dad who was pissed and asleep in the corner. She never made it so I brought dad home that night and found out why she never showed. Some locals, drunk off their arses and joyriding, hit her.” 

“Fuckin’ drunks.” 

You nod slowly, remembering that evening when the family priest arrived with the police to tell your family the news. The wailing, the not being able to breathe, crying until there wasn’t anything left. Your mother pointing to you from across the living room. This is your fault. You called her. She would have been home if you hadn’t fucking called her.  Nevermind the fact that you wouldn’t have called her if your father had been sober. You clear your throat, shoving that memory from your mind. “Fucking drunks.” 

“Mikey shot himself. On the State Street Bridge.” 

“Fucking hell.” Suicide. Nothing accidental about that but the what ifs are just as brutal. 

“You can say that again.” He lights another cigarette. “I just keep asking myself, what did I miss? What if I had shown up five minutes earlier, caught him before he left the house. What if…I don’t even fuckin know anymore.” 

“You never will, dovey. Those of us left will never know.” 

You’re both quiet for a few moments, standing under the streetlamp in front of closed down Beef of Chicagoland, remembering Mikey and your sister, still running through all the what ifs that will never let either one of you go. Moments of silence are like that. They should be spent remembering the loved one and the joy they brought, but all they hold are your own personal failures. 

“So,” you break the silence, “I never did get to hear that voice message.” 

“The Bill Murray one?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh well,” he pulls out his phone with a flourish. “Can’t have you missing out on this piece of history.” 

And standing under a streetlamp in front of a closed down deli in Chicago listening to a voice message that could or could not be Bill Murray is how you fell in love.

[murdrdocs]

explicit sexual content MDNI

you know when you’re laying in bed on your stomach, scrolling through your phone, one leg bent at the knee in a 90 degree angle and the other outstretched completely? yeah thinking about being used in that position.

your shorts are already tiny enough to barely cover much when you’re standing and walking around. so when you’ve been laying down for nearly an hour now, rolling around in search of the perfect position for your mindless scrolling, the fabric has ridden up to cut between your cheeks, exposing the bottom of them.

subsequently, your shirt has lifted, exposing your sides and back, and although so much of you is covered, it appears the opposite.

he feels as if it’s the opposite.

laying beside you on his side, no longer focused on whatever he was supposed to be doing before your figure caught his eye. he’s been silent for a while, letting his eyes rake over your figure. letting the sight of you relaxed like this entice him. convince him that he needs you.

which, with the way you’re laying, legs already spread and inviting him in, he thinks you feel the same.

he starts off casual, innocent. he lets you warm up to his touch.

you hum a little appreciatively whenever his hand lays flat against the exposed skin of your back. your hips wiggle a bit when his palm glides down to rest over your ass. your legs spread more whenever his large hand situates itself between your legs, fingers resting against the taut crotch of your shorts.

you don’t tell him to stop. you don’t tell him to keep going. but your back arches and you move just a little closer.

your head, previously having been faced the opposite direction, turns to look at him once he starts to trace the outline of you with a light touch. barely enough to provide stimulation, but the memory of what he could do to you is what drives you to want more. not the preview of what will inevitably come to be.

you watch him, he watches you, and then you reach down to slide your shorts and panties off in one motion. you go to change positions, too, maybe lay on your back to give easier access, but he shakes his head and kisses his teeth.

“back on your stomach. like before.” it’s a request, there’s room for denial, but with the speed at which you follow it, it could easily have been identified as a command instead.

either way, you end up just as you were before. your eyes flutter shut at the first touch. firmer than before, but still gentle in nature, once more a glide through your slit before ending at your entrance.

by the time he has two fingers buried in you, you’ve thrown your leg over his hips and dug your nails into the forearm not flexing with the effort of fingering you. you’re watching him again, but he’s focused on your cunt swallowing his digits this time, the lewd sounds of it all echoing around the bedroom now that the clacking of your nails against your phone screen isn’t present.

he seldom blinks. his lips are parted, gentle breaths leaving them periodically, and if your own lips weren’t so preoccupied with spewing out thankful praises then you would’ve kissed him.

the heel of his palm digs into your ass as he crooks his fingers a little more aggressively. he searches for a second, eyebrows furrowing in determination, and you do your part by lifting your hips and twisting them a little and then there. there it is.

your hips are already lifted so it makes it all the more easier to slide your hand down and press against your clit when he tells you to.

after that it doesn’t take long. just a little while longer and your toes are curling and your back is arching and you’re burying your face into the pillow beneath you.

his fingers stay within you at first, pumping at a more languid pace, and then once you’ve stopped twitching he pets your head soothingly. he peppers kisses into your scalp, and your eyes are suddenly heavier than they were previously.

you peel your head out of the pillows to ask him, “what was that for?”

he pulls you closer into his side with one hand, urging you to press your back to his chest.

“those little shorts.”

[wtfsteveharrington]

something new | luca x reader

i was awoken from a dream last night

contents: requested size kink so luca is hung!! basically pwp, slight somnophilia if you squint, unprotected sex, spanking, lots of pet names from Luca, reader receiving fingering, dirty talk, semi-submissive reader vibes, pulling out for backshots but some cum play still whoops

a/n: used a photo of will bc it fit the vibe so well 🌝 can we, as a fandom, decide a last name for this man!! only semi proof read i fear pls ignore any mistakes. also no pronouns or real reader description used.

contents: 2.7k.

the climax right before morning's first light

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Your body feels heavy as it’s pulled from a deep sleep. 

There’s warm lips on your shoulder placing soft kisses along your skin, a hand kneading at your ass while you wake up. You hum into the quiet room while burying your face into the pillow desperately not ready to wake up. “S’everything okay?” 

Luca’s chuckling against you, sliding his calloused hand up the back of your thigh while you stay lying on your stomach. He looks down at the sight of you illuminated in the moonlight from his apartment window, soaking in every inch. His hand cups under the bottom of your behind, giving it a little jiggle for his own entertainment. 

“All’s fine, my love. Didn’t mean to wake you so early.”

You turn your head towards the nightstand and it takes a few blinks for your eyes to finally focus on the dim clock. 3:30 AM. Early enough for him to get up to shower, make tea, and leave out a small note of affection on the counter for when you wake up at a much more reasonable time. He typically doesn’t wake you, opting to shimmy out of the bed but not this morning. 

There’s lips on your neck now. “Was dreaming about you and had to make sure you were real.” His hand is sliding in between your thighs now, pulling them apart. Inches away from where you’re starting to crave him. You’re whining in the pillow now while arching your hips up towards his touch. He’s grinning against your skin and rocking himself towards your side. Luca’s hard and heavy against you. “Gonna go take care of this in the bathroom. Just needed a little touch of you before I go.” 

You’re shaking your head now, trying to unpin your arm that’s trapped between the two of you so you can find the waistband of his sweats slung low on his waist. “No, no. Don’t go.” The elastic is tight against your fingers as you slip your hand into his pants, fingertips brushing along his growing length which rewards you with a moan from your boyfriend. His hand gently slaps down on the flesh of your ass before he starts to pull away. You murmur out protests as you stretch your arms out straight ahead of you, fingers curling around the edge of the bed. There’s a rush of cold air as he pulls the blanket from your frame and tosses it to the empty side of the bed. 

He’s grabbing a pillow next and tapping his fingers against your side, grinning as you take the hint and lift your hips for him. “Just lay there, Darling. Let me take care of you.” Luca makes sure you’re comfortable. Taking his time to fluff the pillow just right. Running his wide hands down your back while still lazily waking up. The bed creaks under the two of you as he moves to kneel between your spread legs. He admires your stretched out form. The curve of your ass propped up and his for the taking. You’re wearing an oversized cliche t-shirt from the last trip you took together and this old pair of underwear with a half worn off print. Not the sexiest outfit to ever grace this bedroom to say the least and yet Luca doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

His thumbs slide along the seam of your underwear that’s stretched across your cheeks, warm hands sliding up your backside to your lower back to gently work on your relaxed body. He leans forward to reach up towards your shoulders, the length of him sliding against your ass and eliciting a moan from you. Luca’s taking advantage of this position to rut himself against you, the feeling of your soft body under him working him up even more than he thought was possible. 

“Always so good for me, aren’t you?” You’re nodding against the pillow, turning your head to the side to press a kiss against the hands that are now on your shoulders. “Only yours, Luca.” He’s groaning above you and there’s warm, open mouth kisses being pressed along your spine now. 

There’s a shuffling coming from behind you as Luca makes quick work of kicking his sweatpants off. You feel the warmth of his skin directly on the inside of your thighs now as he sits back up. He’s crooking fingers in the waistband of your underwear and finally, finally pulling them down your thighs and leaving you exposed to him. They’re stuck right above your knees - Both Luca kneeling between your legs and how far spread open you are making it impossible for them to go any lower. “Are you passionate about these?”

You barely shake your head no, because again they’re old and worn and you find it endearing he even asked, before the sound of them being ripped off of you fills the room causing you to gasp out. Luca haphazardly tosses them towards the trash can in the corner and gets to work pulling his own boxes down. You’re needy. Wiggling your hips through the air in slow movements to entice him. As if he needed anymore motivation. You follow his guidance and haphazardly make work taking off your shirt, balling it up and throwing it on his now empty side of the bed.

Since Luca’s doing all the work you allow yourself to stay, essentially, half asleep. Your eyes are still heavy and hooded and your body lax against the bed. He’s delivering one more small smack to the roundest part of your ass before his fingers find their way between your thighs. Normally he’d take more time teasing you, building you up. As much as he yearns to spend the whole day tangled in you, he does have to get to work soon. For now he’s going to be quick but he plans on taking his time with you again tonight. 

There’s fingers sliding up either side of your folds, a slow languid motion to get you used to his touch before his middle fingers slips in. You’re slackjaw against the pillow, letting out a stream of breathy whimpers you can’t control. Luca knows you. Knows every inch of you. So he’s using that knowledge to get you ready for him. His pointer finger slides into you while his thumb finds your clit at the same time. You’re wet, the scissoring and dragging motions Luca’s making causing a slick sound to come from between your thighs. 

“Luca, please.” He grins down at your backside, enjoying the view of his fingers working deep inside of you. “Always so greedy, aren’t you?” You respond by rocking your hips back against his hand and clenching down against his fingers which causes him to chuckle. “Alright, alright.” His hand slides out of you and smacks down against the back of your thigh. Your left behind wetness from his fingers attracts the cold air and causes goosebumps to rise. 

You secretly like when Luca spends a little less time stretching you out then he probably should. The way your boyfriend stretches you out as he first pushes in you has become a piece of heaven. There are nights he spends as long as you’ll allow eating you out and fingering you, toying with your pussy for his own enjoyment. Leaving his chin wet with you and a darken spot on the sheets until he fucks through how sloppy he’s turned you. 

Not tonight. You’re wet, yes. But you know there’s going to be a heavenly burning feeling coming your way. The amount of care your boyfriend puts into you making you comfortable enough to open yourself in that way. Knowing he’d stop the second you asked if needed. 

The head of his cock sits heavy against your entrance and you feel yourself desperately clenching around nothing. He’s pulling you from your train of thought and your body is buzzing in anticipation. The slap of the tip of him against your clit causes your body to jerk which prompts Luca to use his free hand to grip your hip, holding you in place. “Be good, yeah? Let me get us off before I gotta go. Can’t have you wet all day waiting for me to come back home to take care of you.” Luca lines himself up with your hole, sliding just the tip of himself in which pulls a moan from both of you. 

“Baby, please.” Pride swells in Luca’s chest as you start to beg. If he hadn’t been gripping your hips then you would have rolled them back to take more of his length in you. Instead he goes slow, allowing you to adjust to his girth inch by inch. Even after dating for this long, you still weren’t used to him yet. 

There’s a bit of drool coming from the corner of your still parted lips as Luca works his length in. Your boyfriend was well endowed to say the least. A good length, something you could still take to the back of your throat but not so long you couldn’t sink all the way down it. But his girth? That was unmatched. Thick, heavy, and all yours. 

“Feel so amazing, Darling. Was dreaming about this pussy spreading around me.” Luca jerks another inch in without warning, a squelching sound coming from you as the movement causes some wetness to drip out. You can’t form a thought when he’s got you like this. Your body is still relaxed against the bed as Luca stretches you out. 

It takes a moment for him to bottom out and all your mind can focus on is just how deep he feels inside of you. The sensation causes your breath to catch, pathetically letting out whatever whimper you can muster and allowing him to use you to his heart’s content. Luca gives your hip a little squeeze as a warning he’s going to start moving, giving you a second to accept what’s to come before the first roll of his hips hits. 

You’re a mess. Groggy still, already becoming cock drunk. It’s easy to do with him. “S’full, Luc. So, so full.” Even with his brows knitted in concentration as he tries not to instantly cum at the sight of your pussy stretched around him, he’s proud to get you this way. 

But God does the sight of you already have him close. 

Stretched out around him, filled to the max you could be. You look so beautiful like that. Luca fucks through all the wetness you give him, hips building a steady rhythm easily. His eyes flash over towards the clock and something about the pressure of a time constraint is making him a bit more feral than he expected. 

His pace quickens and you’re back to being reduced to a drooling mess under him. Moaning out an incoherent string of pleas, praise, and curses. You couldn’t repeat what’s coming from your mouth even if you tried. His heavy balls slap against your clit which each thrust and Luca’s grabbing your hips with both hands now to get a better grip on you. Fingertips digging in enough that bruises will be left as he starts to fuck into with a firm pace. 

“Such a perfect fuckin’ pussy. So wet for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna be sore all day now but you don’t care. Every step’s gonna remind you how good I fuck you.” 

Your head is spinning. 

You allow yourself to be fucked by Luca, hands gripping the edge of the bed as you desperately clutch anything within reach to keep yourself grounded. He’s… Brutal. Fucking you for his own pleasure in a way. He needed to get off and get off quick before work - But arrogantly knew how good you were for him. Knew that him using you like this would get you off too. 

One of his hands gripping your hip loses his grip and there’s another smack being delivered to the fat of your ass. He groans at the sight of you bouncing, the red mark already blooming from his hand. The burning of being stretched out is fading away and being replaced by the pure pleasure of your boyfriend wrecking your body. 

His hand is sliding up from your ass to press down on the small of your back, a comforting touch compared to the brutal pace of his hips. Long forgotten is the sleepy mask of morning, Luca just chasing after pleasure for the both of you now. You purposely flutter yourself around his length, trying to pull him closer as well. 

“Can you come for me, Darling? You can do that, can’t you? Wanna feel this pretty little pussy finish before I do.” You’re squeezing yourself tighter around him now, the soft pillowcase feeling rougher as your face continues to bounce against it. The room is getting hotter by the second around you two. 

Something about the combination of circumstances has you getting close to finishing far faster than normal. You catch yourself biting down on the pillow as Luca drags his nails down the soft skin of your back, his hips not losing pace as the all too familiar sensation starts to coil up deep inside of you. 

You’re crying out at the sensation, pussy tightening around him as your orgasm rocks through your body. Toe curling, back arching, clit throbbing orgasm. You collapse even further into the bed, a mess of breathless whimpers as Luca continues to fuck through your sensitive body. God you sound lewd with how wet you ended up. 

Luca’s quick to follow after watching you come undone around him.  

He’s moaning out your name, giving a few more pumps through your wetness before quickly pulling out. Stroking his soaked length to keep the sensation and then you feel warmth splattering along your ass and back as he cums on you. He’s breathless and whiney, teasing his own overstimulated cock behind you. Thumb swiping along his tip to collect the last droplets before wiping it in-between your folds and pressing it into you. 

As much as he loved cumming in you, he wanted to make sure he had time to get you cleaned up before he had to leave but he still couldn’t leave you without anything left inside of you. 

Luca drags you to the bathroom after he gives you a moment to collect yourself. Normally he’d take his time with aftercare but sadly he’s lacking just that - time. You use the restroom while he draws the two of you a shower and take a good look at yourself in the mirror while he corrects the water temperature. Healing hickies low on your chest, your hair looking crazy from the combination of sleeping and being wrecked. He’s got twenty minutes left before he runs out of time to make his breakfast but he refuses to leave you in a pile in the bed. 

He makes quick work of washing off your over sensitive body, letting you stand there and run your fingers along his chest, his arms, whatever inch of skin you can reach. “You’re so pretty.” 

Now after what just happened in the bedroom? You’d think nothing would phase him. 

But Luca’s cheeks are going bright red at the compliment. He cups your face with his soapy hands, bringing you two together for a kiss as a silent thank you. 

Luca gets you dried off and sends you back to bed with a pat on your ass. He’s rushing to get ready for work while you lay down in a lump on the bed. Towel tight around your body and the covers long forgotten. It takes a few minutes for him to emerge from the bathroom clothed and hair gelled but he can’t help laughing at the sight of you. You feel the towel being tugged away from your body, the previously discarded blanket being tucked around you and a kiss pressed to the top of your head. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

He leaves everything you need for your morning tea sitting on the counter before running out the door.

[mcondance]

MDNI 18+ the inevitable return of richie to the blog! blowjob, praise (it’s richie bye), his brash ass mouth <33333, i am spamming dirty nasty talk which was fucking fun, i say fuck like a thousand times (it’s fuckin richie fuckin bye) petnames: “angel”, “princess”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“good girl,” richie drags, watching you swallow down more of him. your head spins with the praise. he feels you whine around him, knows how fucked up he gets you when he talks to you like that. you always want to appease him, to make him feel good and hear the words that sound so sweet on his tongue, and he’s got a endless amount of them ready to give you. “fuckin’ pretty like this, you know?” he hisses as his head lolls to the side, “pretty little angel, sucking dick just cause you want to.”

it’s true. and the honesty of his praise makes you take more of him down until he’s as far as he can go. there, he holds you, groaning and cursing and his pleasure makes your cheeks and your ears burn like a thousand fires. when you come up, and you’re sucking in air with spit dripping down your chin, he tells you you’re pretty then too while he strokes down your hair.

praise slips sweetly from his tongue as you get your breathing under control and place a pretty little kiss on his tip. “could frame this. hang it on the wall— fucked up how you look so sweet like this. look like a princess with a mouth full of dick.” your eyelids flutter and you drag spit down the side of him, listening to his words while you have your fun.

you lick back up his cock, teary eyes focused on him. he’s starstruck, wordless, frozen watching you suck him like you love him. you do love him. and you love this. you bob your head once, pull up and swirl your tongue around him. then again, and again, until he’s moaning, egging you on, telling you “handle that shit, fuckin’ give it to me.” his head rolls onto the back of the couch, one arm thrown over his forehead. “turned on” couldn’t even dream of describing the fucking feeling you give him. “shit, fuckin’ pro, gonna— gonna make me your bitch.” pride spreads through you. you are gonna make him your bitch. as if he’s not already.

he brings his eyes to you again. he’s got to watch. “you want that, hm. pretty princess wants to fuck me. you got it.” he affirms, because he knows as well as you do that he’s already under your thumb, and that you can do whatever you want to him and he’d fucking thank you, he’d get down on his knees and thank you like a fucking dog.

people’s boyfriends take classes to learn how to praise their girlfriend beyond “good girl.” they have to learn how to say that shit right. but richie? the second you touch him, he’s got everything in the world for you. everything that makes you feel pretty, and beautifully nasty, and gorgeous even with his dick down your throat— especially with his dick down your throat.

and it’s all because he truly thinks you look gorgeous. and because he knows it’s what you like, and it’s what you need. and who the fuck is he to not deliver?

“you’re fuckin’ me, baby. got me fucked,” he whispers almost to himself, his hand in your hair just to touch. “got me fucked, fucking pretty fucking girl.”

you’d smile if you could. your head spins with the praise.

[tropes-and-tales]

Don't Gloat

(From the "Shut Up" kiss starter prompts, found here)

CW:  Richie being Richie, swearing, mild violence (a misunderstanding), smut (PiV, protected). 18+ only.

Word Count:  7289

AN:  Requested by an anonymous person, place, or thing!

AN2: Drabble? I don't know her, apparently.

Your first real fight is over chicken.

You squabble, pretty much from day one.  Carmy hires you to help in the kitchen, and Richie immediately takes an intense dislike to you.  Adding you upsets the delicate ecosystem of The Beef.  You are unnecessary.  Richie makes it known on your first day.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he warns an hour into service.  “Cousin doesn’t run things.”

“Seems like he does,” you shoot back.

“I’m the manager here.”

Here is where the dislike really starts.  Richie is rude and sarcastic, but you’re a chameleon.  You can shift and change your demeanor to match what someone is giving you, so when Richie is rude and sarcastic to you, you respond in kind.

You call him “Mister Manager” in a tone dripping with sarcasm, and by the end of that first shift, Richie completely hates you.

The feeling is mutual by the end of your second shift.

At first, you just squabble.  You trade barbs and insults.  When Richie throws a temper tantrum over Carmy’s organization of the spices, you pout and turn to Ibra and posit that Richie is grumpy because he needs a juice box and a nap.  Which makes Ibra cock his head at you.  He speaks English impeccably, but sometimes he misses the finer nuances of language like sarcasm. 

“I do not think we have juice boxes here,” Ibra says, and Tina swats him as she walks past.

“She’s being sarcastic, you old bitch,” she tells him.

The allusion to Richie being a toddler isn’t far off.  He acts childish all the time.  He flings cookware around when he’s having a tantrum.  He swears, he throws out middle fingers like an angry pre-teen. 

He hides your expensive Henckles knives.  He turns the heat up or down when your back is turned.  Once, he parks you in behind The Beef, and when you go to leave, he’s nowhere to be found—you end up doing a thirty-six point turn, a fraction at a time, before you can properly pull out and drive away.

But your first real fight is over chicken.

The meat delivery is wrong one day.  You’re short on beef, but there’s five whole chickens, and Carmy throws up his hands and tells you to come up with something.

So you do. 

You roast them low and slow so they stay tender, and you’re putting the finishing touches on the sauce—an adobo-based barbeque that’s the perfect blend of tangy and smoky—when Richie strolls in.  He’s in his stupid leather jacket and ridiculous blue track pants, and he announces himself with his usual grinning, “what’s up, you fucking lizards?”

Sweeps and Manny call out their hellos, but Richie ignores them.  He’s already super-focused on you…and the sauce you’re stirring over a low heat.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks.  He stands too close to you, dips his head close to the pot, and takes a loud sniff of it.  Then rears back with a grimace, like you’re simmering a pot of shit and not a finely balanced sauce for your roasting chickens.

“It’s barbeque sauce.  For the chicken.”

“What fucking chicken?”

“Meat delivery was fucked up,” Carmy calls across the kitchen. 

Richie scoffs and turns to Carmy, and he gestures at you and your sauce.  “No offence, Cousin, but the place is called ‘The Beef.’”

“No offence, Cousin, but fuck off,” Carmy replies.

“Heaven forbid we try something new,” you add.  You snap the heat off and settle a lid over the pot to allow the flavors time to mellow together.  Once the chicken is done, you’ll shred it and mix it in.  You have a red cabbage slaw planned for it, and thin slices of sharp cheddar to round it out.  You turn towards the refrigerator, but Richie blocks your path.

“Nothing Italian about whatever the fuck that is.”  He glares down at you; he’s half a head taller than you, but he has a way of puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster spoiling for a fight.

Maybe other people are cowed by his posturing, but you’re unimpressed and not scared at all.

“It’s about as Italian as ‘Jerimovich.’”

His chest puffs out more, and he takes a half step closer to you.  This close, you can smell the cigarette smoke that clings to him, the old man cologne he splashes on with a heavy hand, the subtler scent of laundry detergent. 

“People come here every day and get the same thing,” he says.  “Same order every fuckin’ day.  No one is gonna order whatever fancy Noma bullshit you’re trying to pull out of your ass.”

You take a half step up to him and puff out your chest, and it makes Richie falter for a moment.  He leans back, just a fraction, but you note the movement and smirk up at him.  You reach out and poke him in the sternum with a forefinger, driving home each point.

“One, this isn’t Noma bullshit.  It’s literally slow-roasted chicken.  Two, it’s a pretty simple sauce.  Maybe it seems fancy to you because it’s more challenging to your palate than chicken nuggets.  Three, some customers might appreciate a change in their usual lunch order.  Not everyone is so resistant to change, Cousin.”

Your use of the familiar nickname makes his nostrils flare and his eyes widen in anger.  “I’m not your fucking Cousin.”

“Sure you are, Cousin.”

“Stop it.”

“I’ll save you a sandwich, Cousin.”  The thought occurs to you that you’re being childish now, that Richie has brought out some immature part of you, and you think it’s kinda fun, being a juvenile brat at work and leaning into the fight.

“Fucking stop it.”

“Stop what, Cousin?”

He turns away from you so quick, it makes you blink in surprise.  “Fucking bitch,” he mutters to himself, but he’s striding across the kitchen towards the office, and he’s calling for Carmy, so you follow at his heels and call for Carmy too.

“Yo, Cousin, can you fucking fire her already?  Jesus fucking Christ, I—” he starts, but you cut him off, mimic his growling voice and Chicago accent.

“Yo, Carmy, when are we gonna fire Richie already?  I mean, the place is changing—”

It makes Richie go fully nuclear.  The mention of change makes him apoplectic.  He turns and crowds you against the door jamb, and he gets right in your face:  so close that you can see his eyes aren’t completely blue—they are flecked with grey, like bits of mica in pavement.  You’re startled for a moment, surprised to find that his eyes are beautiful, but you obviously don’t say anything because he’s snarling in your face.

“Fuck you!” he spits out, and he points a finger inches from your face.  “Fuck you!  Nothin’ is changin’ here!  Nothin’ needs to change!”

And then he gives you his patented Richie double-chin flick, and he mutters some Italian insult you don’t know, and he’s marching through the kitchen to leave.

Not before he sweeps your mise en place off the counter, sending thin-sliced cabbage and vinegar flying.

Carmy stares at you with a look that is purely beleaguered.  He sighs, he scrubs his face with his hands, and he runs them through his hair before he sighs again.

“Whatever you and Richie have going on?  Squash that shit, Chef.”

You nod, embarrassed at rising—or sinking—to Richie’s childishness.  “Yes, Chef,” you reply.

-----

“Squashing it” mostly means that you and Richie only fight when Carmy isn’t within earshot.

Your fighting still entails getting in each other’s faces.  It still means you insult each other, albeit more quietly.  You hiss insults at him, he grumbles them back.  You part when Carmy shows up, and you each stew in your separate corners and wait for the next round.

You start to suss out where the limits are.  You insult him as a father one single time, and the flash of hurt on his face makes you hold up your hands in a truce and apologize. 

He insults you once as a woman with daddy issues, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.  You did grow up without a father—he died when you were six, and your only memories of him are full of pain from the stomach cancer that slowly killed him.  But you must show the hurt on your face too because Richie takes a step backwards away from you, stammers out an apology too.

All told, once you know each other’s hard limits, you actually fight pretty nicely, and if anyone notices it, no one says anything.

-----

Sunday nights are a good time to come in to The Beef and set yourself up for the week.  You work it out with Carmy because it gives him a break and gives you a few more hours.  You enjoy the time there with the restaurant being closed—you blast your music, you sing along at the top of your lungs as you rotate stock, make detailed shopping lists for Carmy, and make sure everything is clean.

If one thing infuriates you, it’s the way certain national media outlets focus on Chicago as a cesspool of violence.  But it is a large city, and violence does happen, so when you’re in the basement of The Beef and hear the beep of the alarm system as it is deactivated, you immediately feel ice cold all over.  The alarm system, Ibra told you once, is easily overcome, and The Beef has been robbed before.

You glance around and see that you’re trapped, unless you want to rush up the steps (not advisable) or shimmy out a tiny window at street level (also not advisable).  There’s nothing in the way of weapons in the basement either, so you arm yourself with a half-burnt cookie sheet and tremble as you listen to the heavy tread above you.

Maybe they’ll just trash the place and leave.  There’s nothing worth stealing, unless they want to wheel out the massive, ancient Hobart.  Maybe they’ll get into Marcus’s stash of good vanilla.  Maybe they’ll—

Maybe they’ll make their way to the top of the stairs.  Maybe they’ll pause there and start walking down to where you wait.  You try not to breathe too loud, but your heart is hammering in your chest, your pulse is in your ears, and you’re flooded with adrenaline as the shoes of your would-be assailant come into view.

You don’t hear Richie’s voice when he calls out your name.  You’re too panicked.  You don’t hear him, and you don’t even register him when he rounds the corner—he’s in his usual track pants and leather jacket—because you’re fully in fight-or-flight mode…and independent of your will, your body chooses fight.

“Fuck you!” you scream, and you swing the cookie sheet directly at his head with all the force you can muster.  Your assailant stumbles backwards with a cry of pain, and you drop the pan and try to scramble past him, but you trip over his foot in your panic and fall hard, cracking your shinbone against the lowest step.

If you ever idly wondered how you’d react in a real life-or-death scenario, here is your answer:  you scream and scream, and you clutch one hand to your throbbing shin but flail your other hand at the person reaching for you, and it’s not until you smell him—the familiar cigarette/old man cologne smell—that your panic ebbs a little.

And then you see those blue eyes flecked with grey, and even if Richie is your enemy at work, he’s never really been an enemy in the true sense of the word.  The relief that you aren’t about to be raped or murdered floods you so suddenly that you burst into tears. 

And then you hug him, your arms so tight around his middle that he breathes out a sharp oof, but then he wraps one arm around your trembling form while the other clutches his bleeding nose in an attempt to staunch the blood.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he asks.  His voice is thick and nasally, but there’s a hint of amusement to it.

“Thought you were an intruder.”  You release him from your hold, and you will yourself to stop shaking. 

“Carmy.”  He shakes his head.  “Guess Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole didn’t tell you I was coming by.”

“He did not.”

Richie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wrinkled napkin.  He presses it to his nose and winces, and your panic is replaced by shame.  You’ll never live this down, you realize.  Richie is going to tell everyone first thing tomorrow, and he’ll add his usual Richie flourishes to make your screams more shrill, your flailing more erratic in the retelling.

His nose stops bleeding, and he checks it tentatively.  He prods at the swollen skin, red that is going to bruise by morning.  He fixes you with a curious look.

“You hit harder than I would have thought.”

“I play softball.”

“Where?”

“Lincoln Park.  At the North Avenue fields.”

He huffs at that.  Clears his throat.  “Yeah, my daughter has t-ball there.”

Your panic is gone now, and you feel more like yourself.  Your leg throbs at where you banged it, and it will be bruised by morning like Richie’s face.  You limp over to the big table and gather up your coat and purse.

“Don’t do that,” you tell Richie.

“Do what?”

“Don’t…whatever.  Talk to me nice.  Tell me about your daughter.  Don’t do that.”

He snorts and says, “why the fuck not?”

“Because we’re not friends, and you scared the shit out of me, and now I’m all keyed up and just want to get home instead of having an impromptu bonding session with the one guy at The Beef who truly, honesty hates me.”

“Alright, fine.  You’re a fucking head-case to freak out the way you did, and I think you broke my fucking nose.  Better?”

It startles a laugh out of you, and your laughter makes Richie grin.  It’s shy, and he ducks his head, but you catch it all the same.

He clears his throat again, then asks if you drove there.  You tell him no—you had a premium parking spot on your street, so you took the L.  He nods at that, and he seems to be thinking through something, so you pull on your coat and sling your bag over your shoulder and wait for him to say something.

“Let me drive you home, at least, “he finally offers.  “You’re all sorts of fucked up.”

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.  Someone looks at you wrong on the train, gonna catch an assault charge.”

“You’d love to see me in prison,” you reply.  “Out of your way.  No one left to defiantly make a delicious chicken sandwich special and destroy the system here.”

“Asshole.”  He shakes his head, then gestures for you to take the stairs ahead of him.  “I’m driving you home.  Let’s go.”

You can’t admit that a ride sounds fantastic.  You do feel keyed up, anxious and twitchy, and even if it’s Richie, you’re grateful for the offer.

Even so, as you limp upstairs, the pain in your leg makes it easier to admit to him.  You turn as he resets the alarm, and you thank him, softly.

“Yeah, fine.  Whatever.”  He points at his car, then grumbles, “c’mon already.”

-----

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Sunday evenings become yours and Richie’s thing.  The work should go twice as fast, but Richie doesn’t work so much as… not work.  He leans in the doorway of the walk-in as you take inventory, he perches on the counter as you make giardiniera for the next day.  He sits in the office as you write out the order list for Carmy, and he gripes about how long you’re taking, how he has better things to do.

If that were true, why does he spend every Sunday with you?  You doubt Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole told him to, yet he shows up every week and complains the entire time.  He complains the entire drive to your place, and when you thank him for the ride, he either flips you off or makes a jacking-off motion with his hand before he peels away from your curb.

“You almost done?” he asks now.  “Got shit to do.”

“You don’t have shit to do.”  You check the takings from last week, do a quick calculation in the margin of the print-out.  “If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

“Why, you afraid I might introduce a dish that isn’t entirely Italian-American approved?”

He grumbles, “nothin’ needs to change.  Menu’s fine the way it is.”

“You really don’t have to stay, Richie.  I can handle myself.”

“Bullshit you can.”  He leans forward, taps the side of his nose.  “You handle yourself so well, you dislocated my fucking nose.”

“And it gave your face some character,” you retort.

“What’s wrong with my face?”

You glance at him, roll your eyes.  “Aside from the fact it’s always in my face, glaring or stirring up shit?  Nothing.”

He leans back in his chair again and sighs.  “I don’t stir up shit.”

“You do.”

“Don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I fucking don’t.”

“You talk way too much, Richard.”

“Don’t call me fucking Richard.  You sound like my asshole mother-in-law.”  He pauses, then amends it to, “my former asshole mother-in-law.”

A long beat of silence passes.  You calculate the meat order, the vegetables, the shelf stable stuff.  You balance out the order against where there’s already overdue bills—Carmy is juggling the vendors as best he can, and you try to give him relief where you can—

“Done yet?”

“Nope.”  You cross out the one line for the produce vendor, split it between two vendors.  “What are you in such a hurry for?”

“Told you.  I got stuff to do.”

You glance over at him.  He does seem more keyed up.  His leg bounces up and down, and he wrings his hands in his lap. 

“What sort of stuff?” you ask.

He mumbles his answer, and you miss it at first.  When you arch an eyebrow at him, he repeats it.  An embarrassed, “got a date.”

You pause in your writing and turn to face him.  Fak told you once about Richie’s imploded marriage, and he had heavily implied that Richie was still pining for his ex-wife.  “A date?” 

He shrugs.  “Kind of a date.”

“What’s kind of a date?”

Another shrug, and he fixes his gaze to the dirty tile floor.  “We went out last week, and we talked about grabbing a drink tonight.  I was gonna text her after I drop you off.”

“Sounds like a regular date to me.”

He lifts his hands in a gesture of helplessness, then lets them fall again.  “I dunno.  Wasn’t really feeling it, you know?”

You turn completely to face him, your list forgotten.  “Then why agree to a second date?”

Another shrug, a sheepish lift and fall of his shoulders.  The two of you are toeing the line of near-friendship, your usual squabbling turning into an honest-to-god friendly chat, but maybe Richie doesn’t have any confidants in his life, because he sighs, then mutters about how she seemed cold, how she wasn’t charmed by his Bill Murray voicemail greeting story, but how he thought he should try anyway—

“Richie, I’m not your gal pal in a rom-com, but if you aren’t feeling it, don’t do it.  Jesus, that’s just common sense.”

He fixes you with a glare.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize you were a goddamned relationship expert.”

“It’s common sense.”

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

You bristle at the question.  Your love life is about as dead as The Beef’s commercial credit, but Richie doesn’t need to know that.  But you hesitate long enough that he can guess, and he laughs at you, and you bristle more.

“I knew it!”  He points at you, and you swat at his hand until he lowers it.  “You give off this whole ‘hasn’t been laid in a long time’ vibe.”

You turn away from him and bend your head back to your ordering list.  “Shut up,” you mumble.

“All those prissy little dishes you add to the menu.  You’re all wound up.  It makes sense.”

“My culinary excellence has nothing to do with my love life or lack thereof.”  You hope your tone is even and nonchalant, but you fear it comes out as defensive.  Which it must, because Richie holds up his hands again.

“No judgement.  It’s tough out there.  I get it.”

You groan and turn away from him, twisting yourself to get his smirking face out of your peripheral.  “You should leave.  Go get ready for your kind-of date.”

“Nah.”

“Seriously, you can go.”

“Nah.”  You hear his deep breath, then a beat later, he continues.

“If you ever want to blow off some steam, we could…”  He trails off, but his intent is clear, and you feel a prickly heat break out across your skin. 

“…shut up, Richie.”

You turn a little and he reappears in your peripherals.  He presses his hands together in a prayer position, then presses his fingertips near his mouth in an expression of thoughtfulness. 

“Shut up, Richie isn’t no, Richie.”

“It’s most certainly no, Richie.”

“Look at me.”

“I gotta finish this list and send it to Carmy—”

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You can’t.  You stare at your handwriting—the 50 pounds of cake flour Marcus needs—and you feel yourself heating up at the sudden image of you and Richie—no, you shove the mental image away, shake your head to clear it, and the man notices all of it.

“Why can’t you look at me?” he asks, and his voice is soft, low.  A graveled rumble, roughened by the cigarettes he chain-smokes when he’s not inside, and you don’t know if it really has been that long, but it’s a step-progression of reactions in your body.  The prickle of heat along your skin, the way your skin feels too tight.  The way your mouth feels too dry all of a sudden.

The strong, traitorous pulse of desire between your legs.  Fuck.

“Wouldn’t have to mean anything,” he continues with that low voice.  “No one would have to know.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Still not hearing a no, sweetheart.”

You breathe in deeply through your nose, then turn to face him squarely.  You look him right in his eyes—those bright blue eyes, flecked with grey, beautiful—and say, “No, Richie.”

He stares back at you, and a smile slowly unfurls across his face.  A real smile, not his usual shit-eating grin or smarmy smirk.  A real smile that, paired with his gorgeous eyes, makes his face transform into something beautiful.  It’s like he’s lifted his mask for a moment and is showing you who he really is.

“You’re tempted.”  He sounds in awe of the revelation, and he leans back against the wall.  “Holy shit, you’re really tempted by it.”

“No, I’m—”

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off.  “You are.”  His smile stays fixed on his face, and he shakes his head.  “Holy shit, sweetheart.”

You grumble out the weakest rebuttal, but he only laughs and shakes his head again, and the last half hour is passed in uncomfortable silence:  you as you email the shopping list to Carmy with hands you will into steadiness, and Richie as he grins at you and chuckles to himself.

Of course he drives you home, just as he always does.

And of course he parks his car and comes up to your apartment when you invite him up, which is a first.

*****

A therapist would have a lifetime of secure business if Richie ever decided to pursue therapy for himself.  Not that he would—feelings are bullshit, and life is tough all over—but if he did…there’d be a lot of deep shit to mine.

At the core of him, Richie is desperately insecure.  He had a dicey childhood, and he glommed on the Berzatto family to make up for his own family’s shortcomings.  He had Tiff, for a glorious while, then lost her.  He has his daughter, but only part-time.  He lost Mikey, the nearest thing to a brother, and now he’s slowly losing The Beef as it becomes something more than a sandwich shop.

No wonder he feels lost all the time.  No wonder he lashes out and hurts those closest to him.

No wonder he’s been riding your ass for months, trying to get you to quit even as his initial dislike has mellowed out to acceptance and then to…something else he won’t name.

He can’t lie to himself:  that night in the basement shifted things.  Maybe you concussed him along with the dislocated nose.  Maybe he has slight brain damage.  He can’t account for it any other way, how seeing you so terrified caused a sea-change in him.  How feeling your arms around him, clinging to him and trembling so hard, softened him towards you.

He won’t name it.  He won’t even think it.  The most he’ll admit is, “maybe I don’t completely hate her.”

Which somehow turns into this moment.  The two of you awkwardly standing in your entryway, unsure if the other is bluffing, unsure if the other is serious.  There’s too much bad blood in your shared past, and you each are expecting the other to say “sike!,” to turn it into a humiliating story to share in the morning with the crew.

You’re both wrong. 

“So, uh, nice place.”  He looks around your apartment and rubs the back of his neck.  “You got a lot of books.”

“I like to read.”

“Yeah.  Nice.”  He takes a few steps deeper into your place, and he studies the titles on the nearest bookshelf.  “Stephen King.  Clive Barker.  You like the spooky shit, huh?”

“Nothing as scary as being ambushed in the basement at night by you.”

He snorts, shakes his head.  As he’s softened towards you, your teasing has gotten gentler too.  You’ve always rose to meet his energy, and now that he’s not actively despising you (he won’t name it, he will not), you aren’t actively despising him.

“Nothing as scary as seeing a giant fucking sheet pan flying at your face—”

You cut him off.  “Okay, Richie.  Enough.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Enough words.  More action.”  You face him and lift your eyebrows challengingly.  “Unless this was all a ruse.”

He shakes his head.

“Unless this is just a prank to embarrass me later.”

He shakes his head again, and he flexes his hands along his sides.  He’s itching to reach out and touch you—he remembers the feel of you in his arms, the way you tucked so perfectly against him when you were scared.  You had been relieved to see it had been him; you had felt safe enough to reach for him, and he’s been chasing that high ever since.  A therapist would make short work of this moment, but Richie wants to feel important to you again.  He wants to feel like you need him to protect you, to shelter you.  He wants to feel like a man, needed, necessary—

You’re talking but he doesn’t register the words.  Instead, he reaches for you, pulls you to him, and when you look up at him in surprise, he dips his head and kisses you.

It’s brutal at first.  He’s out of practice.  He’s certainly never kissed someone like you—someone so infuriatingly challenging—and he mashes his lips too hard against yours, can feel your wince as you struggle to kiss him back.  So he breaks the kiss and tries again, much more carefully, and it’s so much better:  the softness of your lips, the quiet moan you give as you kiss him back.

Maybe you need it bad, but he needs it just as bad, and when he considers why he does, he pushes the thought away completely.  Because if he thinks on it too much in this moment, if he thinks on how good it feels, the way you tug at his clothes—eager but shy, your hands steady but your eyes unable to meet his—he’d have to face an uncomfortable truth.

Still, he needs to see you.  Needs to look you in the eye.  He grasps your chin and tilts your face until you’re looking at him.

“You okay with this?”  He says it softly.  He says it as kindly as he can.

“Yeah.”  You nod, then add, “no one needs to know, right?”

“Right.”

“No one needs to know.”

“Exactly.”

You offer him a smile, and it’s genuine.  It’s not your normal smart-ass smirk, the way one corner of your mouth lifts higher than the other.  It’s a real smile, and he has to push that uncomfortable truth away again because if you’re cute when you smirk, you’re beautiful when you smile, and Richie can’t dwell on the fact.

“C’mon then, Richard.  Bedroom’s this way.”

“Asshole,” he huffs out, but you push his jacket off of his shoulders and let it fall to the ground, and you tug him down your hallway. 

You alternate and he lets you strip him and yourself—a piece of his clothing, a piece of yours.  You leave a trail so that you’re both nearly naked once you’re in the bedroom.  He stands in front of you, his boxers tented, and he takes in the sight of you.  In standard, everyday lingerie—dark grey bra and panties—but the everyday shit makes his mouth run dry.  Elaborate lingerie is not really his thing, but seeing a woman in her everyday shit, the comfortable cotton shit…that feels more special, somehow.  Like you woke up that morning and put on the functional stuff, but now here you are, nearly naked for him.

You always rise to meet his energy.  He’s openly ogling you now, and you gaze back at him, openly staring back.  He has a moment of doubt—maybe he should lift more, cut back on beers after work—but your eyes are blown dark with desire, and it makes his cock twitch to see it.

You seem to want him as much as he wants you. 

“C’mere, you fucking pain in the ass,” he growls, and you roll your eyes but bridge the distance between you.  You press the length of your near-naked body against his, and the sudden touch makes him bite back a groan.  He puts his hands on your waist, and you lay your palms against his chest, and you kiss again.

The kiss grows and grows.  He bullies his way into your mouth, sweeps his tongue and licks against your mouth, and you answer in kind.  You kiss him back, and your hands stroke his chest, his shoulders, his arms.  One snakes lower and grasps him through his boxers, and he swears against your lips at the feel of your palm stoking him.

He pushes you backwards towards the bed.  He pushes you until you hit the bed, and then he pushes you down, but you reach out and grasp him golden chain and tug him down to join you. 

You always rise to meet him.  He takes charge and slots himself between your legs, but you move eagerly.  When he lowers himself onto you, still partially dressed, you lift yourself up and press against him.  Your clothed breasts against his chest, and he dips his head and tugs the cups of your bra down until you’re exposed to him.  He lowers his head and kisses you, works his mouth against you.  He sucks a mark on each curve of your breast, right where your bra will cover.  He wants you to see them and think of him, a pair of mementos to this moment.

“Fuck, Richie.”  You breathe it out, and your hand cups the back of his head.  You hold him against you, and he’s too happy to stay here for a while:  sucking against your nipples, biting lightly until you squirm.  Laving your tender buds with the flat of his tongue, pinching and tugging until you shove him away with a groan.

“Too much,” you whine, but you tangle in his chain again and tug his mouth to yours.  He kisses you, relishes how flushed your skin feels under his lips as he kisses his way across your face, down your neck, across your bare shoulders.  He pauses long enough to undo your bra in earnest, tosses it aside.  Then he kisses his way down your chest again, traces his tongue further down to your soft belly until his chin is perched right on the waistband of your panties.

“Can I?” he asks.  He traces a finger under the lace edging, and he watches your face.  You gaze back at him, your eyes still dark and pupils blown.  Your lips are swollen, and your chest rises and falls with how hard you’re breathing.

You nod.  “You can take them off.”

“Is that it?  Nothing else?”

You laugh, breathless.  “Some other time.  Really want you to fuck me instead.”

Some other time.  The thought makes Richie’s dick twitch at the idea of doing this another time.

You feel him twitch against you.  You laugh again to feel it, and you lift a leg to hook it clumsily along the waistband of his boxers.  You try to push them down, and then you’re chanting “come on, come on, come on” as he scrambles to shuck off the rest of his clothing, scrambles to hook his fingers under your panties as he draws them down your legs. 

“Condoms in the bedside stand,” you tell him, and he opens the drawer, snags one.  He notes the bright pink vibrator there but doesn’t remark on it.  He’ll tuck the image away and revisit it days later in the shower:  a rich bit of fantasy where he pictures you masturbating to the thought of him.

He tears the foil with his teeth, and he watches you as he rolls the condom on himself.  You’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, better than he ever imagined, and a galling little voice in the back of his head asks, “so you’ve been imagining her, huh, asshole?”

He ignores the voice and what it might say next.  He stands over you and asks instead, “how do you want me, sweetheart?”

Another smile.  A genuine one.  “However you want it.”

“Anal, then.”

It startles a laugh out of you, and Richie thinks he might love that—the way he surprises you into laughing.  You prop yourself up on your elbows and look at him.  You kick out a bare foot and press your toes low against his belly, centimeters away from touching the tip of his cock where it stands at attention.

“Not that,” you chide.  “That requires prep.”

“Not a no, sweetheart.”

“It’s a no for this moment.”

“Hmm.  Interesting.”  He grips your ankle and circles it with his hand, and he bends your leg.  Pushes it away from him, pushes it closer to you, and it reveals your gorgeous pussy to him:  the neat-trimmed curls, the slick arousal, the swollen bud of your clit.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he groans to see you.  “Gotta tell me how you want me, and fucking quick.”

“Missionary works for me,” you reply.  “Old reliable.”

So he climbs onto you.  He kneels between your legs, then pushes them apart obscenely wide.  You stay propped up on your elbows, watching him, but when he settles between your thighs, you fall back against your pillow.

“Good?” he asks.

“You haven’t done much,” you point out. 

“Smart-ass.”  He reaches down and grasps his cock at the base, and he drags the tip of himself through your folds.  He coats himself in your arousal, feels the heat of your pussy even through the latex, then notches himself at your entrance.  He looks down and pushes just the tip in, and the sight of it—barely inside you, the promise of burying himself inside you—makes his vision go fuzzy around the edges.

“Richie.”  You reach up with one hand to cup his face, and you peer up into his eyes.  “Fuck me, please.”

Your other hand finds the small of his back.  You can’t quite reach his ass, so you lay your palm against the small of his back and urge him forward, and he pushes into you.  He goes slow but steady, and he hears your small gasp as your tight cunt makes room for him.  He feels the stretch of it, the smooth muscles twitching at him, and he studies your face for any pain but finds none.

“Pussy’s gripping at me,” he grits out once he’s seated in you.  “Guess you needed it bad after all.”

“Don’t gloat.”  You bear down on him, squeeze him like a fist, and it makes him choke out a curse.  “You needed it bad too, I think.”

“Not complaining here, sweetheart.”

You take his chain in your hand and tug him down to you again.  You kiss him, then mumble against his mouth, “so fuck me then, Richard.  Move.”

He does as you ask.  You’re a pain in the ass, and you’re a representative of all the change occurring in his life without his permission, but he wants to make it good for you.  He remembers the way you clung to him that night in the basement, and he wants to capture that feeling again…even as he shoves the memory aside and begins to fuck you in earnest.

He doesn’t thrust in and out so much as up and down; he learned this move a long time ago and knows it feels better for his partner.  His thrusts hit every part—each reseating brushes the tip of him against the end of you, and it makes you whine each time.  The slide in and out, at this angle, draws along the firm bud of your clit.  And each time he pushes himself home, the base of him grinds along your clit too, and it makes him feel like a million bucks when you gasp out his name, warn him that you’re close—

“Fuck, fuck.  God, Richie, I’m c-close.  Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—"

And then it tears out of you:  the hard snap of your hips as you lift them to meet his most punishing thrust, the way you tremble under him, your legs shaking, your eyes rolled back in your head.  The way your cunt grips him, ripples against him until it feels like he’s being pulled into your body, and the thought takes hold of him.  He wants to crawl inside you, wants to fill you with himself, wants to merge with you, and the thoughts are so rapid-fire he feels insane for a moment before he settles.

You open your eyes and blink up at him, surprised.  “Holy shit.”

“Told you.”

“Don’t gloat.”  You lift your head and kiss the side of his neck, and he adjusts himself and keeps fucking you.

He’s hit his rhythm now; he deals you hard thrusts and you take them.  You beg for more.  His arms burn as he arches over you.  His calves burn as he drives his cock into you, and sweat beads along his hairline.  He’s covered in a sheen of it, but he doesn’t stop.  He fucks you hard, and his gold necklace swings in time to his thrusts.  It hits you in your face until you hook it with a finger and put the fucking thing in your mouth, and he doesn’t know why it's so hot—maybe it makes him think of your mouth on parts of him instead of just his necklace. 

He makes you come a second time, and it breaks around you again, leaves you trembling and incoherent, but after you recover, you push him over.  It’s easy for you to do—he’s winded as fuck from all his smoking—and Richie finds himself underneath you as you ride him.

He’s happy for the break, but he’s happy to see this side of you.  Any shyness from earlier is long gone.  You sit astride him and bounce on his cock, and it makes your tits bounce too, and he can look down at where he disappears into your tight, wet pussy.

He’s not going to last much longer, and he tells you so.

“S’fine,” you pant out.  “Want you to come too, Richie.”

Then you reach down and take his hands in yours, you place his hands on your tits, and he sort of loves how you take charge at the end.  You push your chest into his hands and ride him, and once he’s touching you there—pinching at your nipples until you arch your back—you reach down and touch yourself.  He watches, transfixed, as you rub a tight circle against your clit, and he can feel you getting close now.  Two orgasms down, he can feel the warning signs.

“Try to come with me,” you order him.  “Want to feel it.”

He’s close.  He’s been close for a while, has been forestalling his own pleasure by listing out White Sox statistics in his head.  But now he wants to come with you as you’ve asked (he wants to do everything for you, anything you ask, he wants all of it, and he struggles to push the thoughts away this time).  He breathes in time with your riding, and he feels his balls tighten as his orgasm approaches.

“I’m close,” he warns.  “Fuck, sweetheart, are you close?”

“Y-y-yes.”  You close your eyes and drop your head, focusing on whatever you’re feeling.

“Gonna come with me?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  You take a sharp breath, then moan as you come a third time, and if he doesn’t quite come with you at exactly the same time, it’s close enough:  the way your pussy grasps at him, draws him in deeper is enough to push him over the edge, and he shifts his hands to your waist.  He pulls you down onto him and stills, feels the pulse of his orgasm as he spills in the condom.

It takes him a long while to recover.  He feels weightless.  Boneless.  He feels like he’s melting into the covers of your bed.  Like he could sleep for a hundred years.  Like he could give up cigarettes and Xanax if he could just stay here and fuck  you whenever his anxiety or insomnia are too much….

You dismount on shaky legs, and you disappear.  When you return, you’re in an oversized t-shirt that skims the top of your thighs, and you hand him a warm washcloth.

“You can take your time,” you tell him.  “No rush.”

Richie reaches down and pulls the condom off.  He ties it off and looks around until he sees a waste bin.  He tosses it, then flops back down on your bed.

“Just need a minute,” he says, but his voice is already thick with sleep, and he doesn’t remember anything else until morning when he wakes up to the smell of strong coffee and sizzling bacon.

He doesn’t remember you standing over him, bemused as you watch him snore.  He doesn’t remember you lying down beside him, covering both of you with a blanket.

And he certainly doesn’t remember reaching for you in his sleep.  He doesn’t remember how you wrap your arms around him, just like that night in the basement of The Beef, and how he sighs at the feeling of you tucked against him again.

[etherealising]

a buried and a burning flame

part two out now!

pairing(s): richie jerimovich x fem!reader

summary: constantly arguing with your student’s father wasn’t on your bucket list for this school year, but how can you stop when he just makes it so easy to get under his skin? based on this request.

warning(s): implied age-gap | misogyny | angst | make out session | heavy petting | dry humping | borderline exhibitionism | minimal editing |

wc: 11k

A wide forced smile graced your lips as you looked at the very obviously out-of-place man sitting in the small classroom chair that was usually occupied by the small bodies of your second graders. Your foot tapped impatiently as you waited for the line to connect, the last call went straight to voicemail and you were begging the universe for it not to happen this time as you felt the heat of the man's scowl sear into you.

“Hello, this is Tiffany Gattina speaking.”

You perked up as soon as you heard a greeting, “Ms. Gattina?” You listened as she repeated your name, relief flooding through you that you’d finally gotten ahold of the woman.

“Yes, hi it’s me.” You cringed at the immediate panic running through the woman’s voice. “No, no Eva’s perfectly fine, but there is an uh…Mr. Jerimovich here claiming to be her father.” You looked up, the man’s loud scoff sent a wave of irritation through you, the urge to roll your eyes growing the longer the two of you stared at each other.

Your attention was pulled back to the phone as you listened to the woman you were used to seeing during pickups explain their familial situation to you. “Thank you for clarifying, but seeing as he isn’t listed on her yellow card, legally I’m not allowed to let him take her off of school premises.”

The sound of Mr. Jerimovich releasing a disbelieving laugh caused you to grit your teeth, your body swiveling around so he was forced to glare at your back.

“Shit, okay I’ll be there as soon as I can.” You listened through the phone as Ms. Gattina shuffled around, her keys jangled as the line went dead before you’d even got the chance to say goodbye.

It was immature but you stood against the wall with the phone to your ear for a few minutes more, quiet hums leaving your lips to give the illusion you were still speaking with someone so you wouldn’t have to be subjected to spending too much time alone with the irate older man. The cold tiny fingers patting your elbow made you jump, eyes finding Eva’s small figure looking up at you as she waited for you to hang up the phone. A feeling of guilt raced through you as your eyes darted to her childlike smile, while you were here trying to avoid her father you were also avoiding Eva.

You felt ridiculous saying goodbye to a dial tone before moving to place the phone back on the receiver mounted to the wall, “What can I do for you, Miss Eva?” You smiled as her nose scrunched up watching as she waved for you to bend down so she could whisper in your ear.

“Is it okay if I go to the reading corner?” You let out a quiet laugh at her question as you stood up nodding your head and watching as her face lit up in excitement.

“Just remember to put the books back where they go.” You watched as she skipped over to the decorated corner, a smile lining your lips at all the work you put into making your classroom as inviting and comfortable to your kids as ever, but the thought slowly dwindled as you remembered why exactly she was here after hours.

A small sigh escaped you at the loud noise leaving the intruder’s phone followed by his equally as loud commentary, the sounds bouncing off the once quiet walls of your classroom made you want to scream. You walked to your desk opening a drawer and shuffling through the files in hopes that you’d find an extra yellow card. The universe was on your side as you pulled a blank yellow card out, smoothing the crease out in one of the corners. If this man was gonna take up space in your classroom, the least he could do was fill the card out so the two of you didn’t have to repeat this interaction.

You had to steel your nerves before standing up, reaching to pull a pen out of the cup on your desk before approaching the boisterous man with all the false confidence you could muster. You stopped in front of him clearing your throat to gain his attention and forcing yourself not to snap as he leisurely looked up at you before his gaze returned to his phone, you had to stop your mouth from dropping open at the blatant disrespect before composing yourself as he locked his phone and placed it face down on the table.

“Mr. Jerimovich-,” Your words were interrupted by the screeching of the chair legs against the linoleum eyes watching as the man raised to his full height and impeded on your space.

“Listen, sweetheart,” you raised your brows at the nickname eyes locked on his. “I’m just here to get my little girl alright. And there was no need for you to go snitchin’ to her mom and shit.”

Your eyebrows rose further up your face, eyes darting to Eva to ensure she wasn’t privy to this dispute, tuning out her father as he kept running his mouth. Your head snapped back in his direction as you caught the last of his tirade, his words implied that you were unqualified to even be a teacher.

“Listen Mr. Jerimovich.” You paused, sending him your most condescending smile. “Let me paint you a little picture, let's say I don’t know, corner store Joe comes up to the school during dismissal tomorrow points at that sweet little girl over there, and spins some story about being her uncle. Have I lost you yet?”

There was venom in your words as you watched him roll his eyes before nodding for you to continue. “I would be a shit teacher to send that precious girl off with the first person who tried to claim her. So maybe you are her father. I'm not taking that away from you, but until Ms. Gattina walks through that door and confirms your identity, I am not letting Eva out of my sight. Understand me?”

His eyes hadn’t left yours through your whole spiel, darting between them as he let your words sink into him, you watched on as he reluctantly nodded a feeling of triumph raced through you.

“Great, now you’re gonna sit back down and you’re going to spend the rest of the time you're here feeling out this information card, okay?” You pressed the yellow card and pen into his chest, your eyes falling to the “Original Berf” logo before looking back at him once more.

The cold metal on his hand brushed against yours as he grabbed the materials from you, the gold wedding band on his finger drew your attention, the sight of it intriguing you. You watched him in curiosity as he sat down grumbling words under his breath you couldn’t even begin to understand, your staring was interrupted as he shot you an annoyed look, eyes looking you up and down trying to figure out why you were hovering.

Irritation radiated off of him as he waited for you to take your leave, the glare in his eyes loud and clear that your presence was no longer welcome. You sent him one last forced smile before turning on your heels to utilize however long you were stuck with him to grade and go over lesson plans.

You stopped in your tracks as something occurred to you, the noise of your shoes hit the linoleum as you made your way back to him, “One more thing Mr. Jerimovich, don’t ever cuss in my classroom again.” Your words were punctuated by a saccharine smile, his lips rolling in as he repressed himself from saying something he might regret.

Teaching children right from wrong would always fill you with a sense of purpose, but having to deal with their asshole parents made you question your career choice more times than you’d like to admit.

The last thing you wanted to spend the end of your Friday doing was trying to play mediator between two grown men who couldn’t accept the faults of their children. As soon as you sat them down and began to explain the situation, you became the bad guy, and when they weren’t jumping down your throat, they were having a screaming match with each other, you only hoped Mrs. Monroe across the hall was having an easier time occupying the two children she’d agreed to keep company for the time being.

A lull in the screaming match allowed you to speak up. “I understand the urge to defend your children and while I respect it, please let me explain the full incident.” Neither man said anything as they looked at you, both of them giving off the impression that they’d rather be anywhere else than here listening to you.

“During arts and crafts time there was a bit of misunderstanding between Noah and Eva. I’m not exactly sure how it started as I was helping another student bu-,” You paused as Mr. Vanderbilt let out a disbelieving laugh, his hand waving off your silence to get you to continue.

Your fingers dug into the fabric of your pants as you had to remind yourself that you couldn’t just assault your student's parents, you cleared your throat before continuing. “Mr. Vanderbilt, your son threw a pair of scissors at another student. And while I’m sure you have more pressing matters to deal with, this is Noah’s third write-up this month.” You watched the agitation rise on his face, his mouth moving to form sentences before you spoke over him, “And regardless of his age, his actions fall under the category of assault, and as I’m sure you know this is a zero-tolerance campus.”

There wasn’t even a few seconds of silence between your words before the man spoke up. “I can assure you it was an accident and had you been paying attention to all of your students, I’m sure me and Mr. Jerimovich wouldn’t have to be here wasting our time.” You watched on in disbelief as his hands raised lazily to unbutton his suit jacket which probably cost more than your yearly salary.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to gather your thoughts in the most professional way possible whatever you had to say not seeing the light of day. “This child Ava, was she injured? If not then I really don’t see why I’m here in the first place.”

“Her names Eva you fuckin’ jagoff.” Mr. Jerimovich’s loud voice rang through your ears, and you could see you were once again losing control of the situation.

The more boisterous of the two men turned in his chair, his chest puffed out as though he was preparing himself in case this turned into a physical dispute. Your eyes bounced between them both knowing that Mr. Vanderbilt would be on the phone with his lawyer faster than Mr. Jerimovich could even throw a punch.

“Excuse me!” Your voice raised a few octaves, the overly polite persona you put on fading the longer you sat with them. “While the safety scissors didn’t break skin, there is a bruise on Eva’s collarbone. And you’re here Mr. Vanderbilt because Noah is prone to these outbursts and it’s gotten out of hand now that my other students are at risk of being hurt just because he may be overstimulated. I would appreciate it if you and your wife took the time to find the root of his problems, I mean no disrespect Mr. Vanderbilt but oftentimes this behavior usually begins at home.”

The sneer on Mr. Vanderbilt’s face was the last thing you wanted to see at that moment, you’d had enough experience with privileged and pretentious parents to know your Friday was just going to continue getting worse.

“They just let anyone teach our children nowadays don’t they?” His condescending smile was enough warning on its own. “Noah’s a great kid and listen I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but that’s just how boys are. I think the real issue at hand is the fact that my child’s education has been put in the hands of well…a child. Where did you say you received your degree from again?”

Indignation settled heavily in your chest as you watched a self-assured smirk paint his lips as he rose from his chair. “The way I see it, if you knew how to do your job none of this would’ve happened, I mean how hard is it to babysit a bunch of six-year-olds for a couple of hours?” You watched in silence as he stood to his full height, hands smoothing out his ridiculously expensive suit. “I’ll make sure Principal Pacheco hears about how unqualified you are to be in a classroom.”

The silence was loud as you watched him sashay out of your classroom door, eyes locked on his back the whole time mind racing with what you did in a past life to even deserve half the shit you were subjected to dealing with.

“What a fucking joke.” You jumped in your seat at the gruff voice part of you had forgotten he was there considering his silence, something that shocked you seeing how outspoken he already proved he was. “Asshole dad and asshole kid, am I right? What a fucking prick talkin’ to you like that, yo I don’t know how you put up with that shit.”

You blinked in rapid succession trying to follow his fast-paced words, your mind trying to figure out why he thought he could be so casual with you. You were snapped out of your stupor as he stood long legs leading him to the door, you pushed off the chair moving to meet him before he could step foot outside.

“Mr Jerimovich please wait,” he stopped his movements hand stalled on the door as he looked at you.

“Given the situation, I know it sounds a bit ridiculous, but Eva was also written up today.” You paused watching as his eyebrows furrowed.

“After the incident, while I was checking her for any wounds, she began to yell at Noah using…explicit language.” The man’s full body turned to you, his shoulders hunching over as one hand raised to swipe across his mouth, the sound of his incredulous laugh danced through your ears.

“Let me get this straight, some little punk ass kid assaults my little girl, your words. And you write her up because she says a few bad words.” You could understand where his irritation stemmed from, you debated just letting her off with a warning but then other students began repeating her words and the only way for you to help Eva understand the gravity of her actions was to give her consequences.

You began playing with the bracelet on your wrist unsure how much more verbal abuse you could take in one day. Your thoughts raced with the best way to go about this situation and somehow convince him to understand your duty as an educator.

“Between me and you, I don’t think Eva’s reaction was wrong, she’s allowed to feel whatever she needs to. But her response is where I had to draw the line, other students were repeating her words.” You hoped the look in your eyes could convey whose side you were on in this situation.

The man in front of you sucked his teeth as he shook his head, humorless laughter followed, “Is this the shit they teach at whatever fancy-ass little school you went to? She was hurt and probably angry, what the fuck did you expect from her. Listen, lady, I don’t know if you were raised to just roll over and take shit but that’s not how I’m raising my daughter.”

Whatever hold you had on your anger quickly slipped away as he continued speaking, “You don’t get to come into my classroom with your stupid little matching tracksuit and the smell of god-awful food wafting off of you and try to tell me about myself. And you also don’t get to insult my education and upbringing to make yourself feel better about the fact that the only impression you make in your daughter’s life is the string of curse words that constantly leave your mouth.”

He let out a real laugh this time, hands clapping the noise echoed around the mostly silent classroom, “So she can fucking speak up for herself, you’re just full of fuckin’ surprises! Why don’t you just teach my daughter like you’re paid to and leave the parenting to me, sweetheart.”

You weren’t sure when the two of you had gotten so close but you could feel his huffs of breath ghosting across your face, sure he could feel yours as well. It was a few moments of intense eye contact, neither of you wanting to be the first to end it, somehow doing so would be a sign of defeat.

“I would appreciate it from now on if your ex-wife or Eva’s stepfather was my only point of contact where she’s concerned.” Your words were punctuated by your eyes glancing at the gold band on his ring finger.

It was a low blow and although you didn’t particularly like the man in front of you, you knew that he didn’t deserve the blaze of your full anger. But you also didn’t deserve to be consistently disrespected for just trying to do your job.

You watched on a bit guiltily as his face dropped, his eyes darting between yours before settling into slits as he glared at you, his look of disgust making you feel like you needed to exfoliate the whole day away immediately upon returning home.

No more words were exchanged between the two of you. You watched as he turned back to the door to exit once again, his tall lanky body drifted across the hall collecting Eva. You stood in the entrance of your classroom lip tugged between your teeth as you watched them disappear down the hall. A guilty wave was sent to the small smiling child as she eagerly waved goodbye to you.

The classroom was all prepped and ready to go, the assortment of donuts were all lined up separated between vegan from non-vegan. Events like these always had a good turnout, part of you wishing these types of days were around when you were still in school.

You were nervous and while you wanted to believe it was because the school year was slowly coming to an end and you’d need to figure out how you were going to support yourself over summer break, you knew that some of the nerves had to do with being in the presence of a certain student's father.

Trying to occupy your racing mind, you double-checked that the coffee and hot cocoa were warm and ready to be served. You moved to the door of your classroom, eyes tracing over the ‘Donuts with Dad’ sign you’d spent all night making, chuckling at how much effort and creativity you’d put into something that would be gone in an hour or two.

You took your place in front of your classroom door, the time on your watch letting you know the main doors would be opening soon. Swarms of students followed by their father figures walked through the halls, your hand waving to greet the first few pairs to enter your classroom letting them know it was alright to help themselves.

The routine of greetings went on for a little while longer, you’d have to tamp down on the way your eyes constantly roved over the heads of other parents hoping to see the tall lanky figure that for some reason raced through your thoughts no matter how much he infuriated you. It had been a few weeks since the last spat the two of you shared and while he hadn’t stopped picking up or dropping off Eva, not that you actually expected him to. Neither of you had spoken a word to each other in the time between now and then. You weren’t sure what it was but as much as he annoyed the shit out of you, you found yourself missing the irritation he caused you, the way it felt almost fun to have someone push your buttons for the hell of it. It sounded insane the two of you had only met on two occasions and neither of them left a good taste in your mouth but you couldn’t help but want more interactions with him, it was finally getting to your head, spending every waking minute with children was finally pushing you over the edge so much so that you willingly wanted to argue with a parent of your student. Maybe it was time to take your friends up on that offer of a night out.

A parent calling out to you drew your attention, your eyes peeking into the classroom to see that it was pretty much full aside from the obvious missing duo.

The rest of your time was spent with each parent and student duo individually. Checking in to make sure they were all doing okay and answering any questions a parent may have had regarding their students' learning experience. You’d learned from Noah’s uncle who he’d chosen to bring that his parents weren’t as involved in his life as they should’ve been and that he was trying to talk them into getting him into behavioral therapy. You appreciated his honesty and you appreciated even more that he wasn’t quick to write off Noah’s behavior as him just being a boy but mostly you were surprised when Noah shyly handed you a letter of apology a similar one in his hand addressed to Eva.

After your rounds, you relegated yourself to your desk taking the time to answer emails and begin planning end-of-the-year activities, your eyes wandered to Eva’s empty cubby every so often concern sinking into you at her absence. There were about 30 minutes left before the adults would have to begin leaving, you were so engrossed in the pro and con list you made about working during a summer school session that you hadn’t realized the duo patiently standing in front of your desk.

The clearing of a throat jolted you eyes quickly flashing up, the surprise clear on your face. Your eyes darted between Eva and her father before your mind finally began working. “Eva! We were worried you wouldn’t be joining us today. There’s only about 20 minutes left but you're both welcome to enjoy some donuts and drinks.”

You pointed in the direction of the table where the refreshments were situated smiling at Eva as she eagerly bounced away. You were surprised to see her father still standing in front of your desk. The awkward air radiated heavily between the two of you, you could see his mouth opening and closing as though he had something to say but decided against it before turning to catch up with his daughter.

Focusing back on your previous task seemed almost impossible as your ears eagerly listened out for the heavy lilt of a Chicago accent, you didn’t want to seem too eager by approaching the duo so soon, but as the time on the clock continued to tick down you knew you’d have to get it over with.

Quickly standing you smoothed out your blouse before making your way to the table. They were situated at pulling up a chair of your own and trying to ignore the heated glare on the side of your head. “Good morning you two, are you enjoying yourselves?”

Eva’s wide smile punctuated by the faint whipped cream mustache helped to alleviate any lingering doubts that had settled within you. Reluctantly you turned to the only other adult seated at the table; the displeasure of you being seated next to him was evident across his face. You shuffled in your seat feeling uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze, “Is the coffee to your liking?”

It wasn’t much but you couldn’t sit and stew in the awkward tension forever, hoping that although you’d both made horrible first and second impressions of each other you could just let bygones be bygones. You drummed your fingers together as his stare stayed locked on you giving nothing away about his current thoughts.

“Ain’t nothin’ to write home about.” His shoulders shrugged in dismissal as he looked away from you, busying himself with the grade-appropriate decorations around your classroom.

Eva was none the wiser to the bad blood between you and her father as she continued munching on her donut, fingers making shapes out of the crumbs that now decorated her table. You twiddled your thumbs trying to figure out the best way to bring up your next topic of conversation.

You cleared your throat, gaining the older man’s attention once more, “Mr. Jerimovich, I’m not sure if you’ve heard but we have a field trip coming up,” there was no indication on his end that he was listening, just an unnerving blank stare trained on you. “Unfortunately one of our chaperones had to back out at the last minute, and I thought seeing as you haven’t joined us on a field trip this year you might be interested.”

His already too-big body hunched forward, his knee harshly knocking into yours under the table as he leaned into your space across the desk, his movements forced you back sitting ramrod straight in your chair. “Sorry sweetheart, I’m not too sure that’s a good idea and all ya know seeing as how you made it clear I’m a horrible influence on children. Wouldn’t want to corrupt anyone else’s kids.”

You bit your lip hard, the words you said to him all those weeks ago finally coming back to bite you in the ass. You had no one to blame but yourself and as easy as it would’ve been to go tit for tat with him in this moment, you were trying to be the bigger person and put this animosity between the two of you to bed.

A solid hand landing on your shoulder stopped whatever words you were struggling to string together. The unwanted weight caused you to look over your shoulder, surprised to see Noah and his uncle whose name you didn’t remember standing behind the three of you.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt but I wanted to make sure Noah apologized while I was still here.” You subtly shrugged hoping he’d get the hint and remove his hand and luckily for you, he did. The sound of a grunt met your ears as your eyes flashed back to the initial pair you were speaking with. Eva’s discomfort was palpable as she held on to her father’s arm, the young girl not too keen on the turn of events, if she was uncomfortable then Mr. Jerimovich was downright murderous in the way he sized the other man up, an unnecessary brawl sure to happen if you didn’t step in.

“Eva sweetie, Noah wrote you a letter to apologize for his actions. If you're interested in accepting it that’s great, but I won’t force you to if you don’t want to.” She nodded shyly at your words as she looked at you, her eyes moving up to look at her father as they spoke to each other in a few glances only they understood.

You wished Noah’s uncle would’ve let you handle the situation how you saw fit instead of bombarding the poor girl, probably making her feel as though she had to accept the letter because she was pressured by his presence. Eva’s eyes found yours once more, a reassuring smile on your lips to assure her whatever decision she made was entirely fine. Her small hand reached out palm face up as she waited for Noah’s letter, the small boy hastily tossing it in her hand while mumbling a reluctant sorry under his breath.

The air was awkward as you waited for the intruders to leave a forced smile drawing to your lips as the man’s hand landed on your shoulder once again this time squeezing it a bit. You let out a sigh of relief when they returned to their previous seats, your thoughts not as jumbled as before as you turned to try and persuade Mr. Jerimovich of your offer.

“You know you got a lot of nerve talkin’ about the impression I make on my daughter, now you’re beggin’ me to save your ass and lettin’ that jagoff fondle you in front of kids. I mean if I’m a shit influence you’re shittier.” He finished his sentence by taking a bite of his donut, the crumbs catching in his facial hair caused your lip to curl up in disgust.

He was lucky Eva had run off to dispose of her trash and that the ruckus of parents getting ready to leave drowned out his words. “Need I remind you Mr. Jerimovich that you are in my classroom, a classroom full of children, and still you don’t have the self-control to control your cussing” You stood up dusting the imaginary crumbs off your pants, “Clean up your mess and make sure you have your life together the next time you step foot in my classroom.”

“Yeah whatever sweetheart I dunno what’s got you wound so tight, but you better take care of it before you end up bitter and alone.”

A sarcastic laugh escaped at the irony of his words, “Remind me again, which one of us still wears the wedding ring from their failed marriage?”

You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but arguing with him sent you on a power trip of some sort, your hand reached out to break a piece of his donut off before eating it, your own sad little war prize.

His glare was the most vicious it’d ever been as he watched your mouth work around the sweet treat, “I hope you fucking choke.”

“You too sweetheart.” Your smile was a borderline snarl as you moved past him, shoulder-checking him on your way to clean up any leftover messes.

Regret wasn’t something you experienced often but as you stood listening to the tour guide your shoulder bumping into the tall man next to you from time to time, his annoyed huffs of breaths meeting your ears, you realized that you were your own worst enemy.

When you arrived at the school this morning your excitement was at an all-time high. As much as you loved teaching your students it was nice to get out of the classroom and go on field trips, you also appreciated not having to teach for a day. So as you waited with the other second-grade teachers for all the students and chaperones to arrive you were sure nothing could ruin your day, but that all changed when you saw Eva walk up with her very smug-looking asshole of a father.

You hadn’t given it a second thought before you removed yourself from the conversation with Mrs. Monroe legs working overtime to meet up with the father-daughter duo before they could join the rest of the waiting group. Eva smiled brightly as you approached them excitement written across her face the small girl had talked about the trip all week.

“Good morning Ms. Eva, are you ready to explore the museum?” Her head nodded rapidly as she giggled, her hand swinging back and forth in the cage of her fathers, “Why don’t you go join the others while I have a word with your dad.” She nodded, squeezing her father’s hand before taking off across the parking lot to join the growing group of second graders.

Looking at the man standing in front of you, you could see your reflection in the stupid-looking sunglasses he wore, the both of you staring each other down. Your eyebrows furrowed as his hand raised in offering to you, your eyes darting from his face to the slip of paper he was holding out. From the color of it, you knew exactly what it was before grabbing it, the chaperone slip you sent home with Eva and asked to make sure her mother got it.

“You know Mr. Jerimovich, it takes a lot more than filling out a chaperone slip to chaperone a field trip.” You couldn’t help but rub it in his face, a part of you needing to antagonize the older man, to be the winner of every interaction the two of you shared.

His lips curled into a smug smile as he took a step closer to you invading your personal space. The fact that he hadn’t removed his glasses infuriated you, you didn’t enjoy the fact that you could see every emotion racing through your eyes in the reflection while all of his were guarded.

“That little lizard brain of yours sure doesn’t do a lot of thinking does it?” Calling you a lizard was so out of pocket it almost made you laugh, but you bit the inside of your cheek as he continued. “Mrs. Monroe was kind enough to help me through the logistics, bless her heart she also had some choice words about your chicken head ass but I don’t kiss and tell.”

Your arm ached as he rammed his shoulder into it while walking past you to join the group of waiting children and adults. You never hated a student's parent before but something about Mr. Jerimovich just made you tick, and if Eva wasn’t one of your students you surely would’ve ripped him a new one by now.

The conversation happening at the adult's table droned on, you elicited quiet hums in order not to be pulled into the conversation not too keen on making small talk with people you couldn’t care less about.

“Oh Richard, I’ve been meaning to ask about the restaurant. I went by the other day for one of those lovely beef sandwiches but the windows were all boarded up. I hope Michael’s death didn’t ruin the business.” Mrs. Monroe’s voice was laced with what some might call curiosity but you’d known the woman long enough to know she was just a nosey old woman trying to sink her teeth into whatever form of gossip she could.

You had no problem keeping your attention on the complimentary lunch provided by the museum, but then you realized who this mysterious Richard she was speaking to must’ve been and your eyes found the man’s face as he began speaking.

“Nah, just renovating trying to take the restaurant in a new direction.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin, eyes meeting yours before finding Mrs. Monroe to your right.

It was hard to appear disinterested, but it's not like he would willingly divulge any personal information to you. Not that you wanted him to but you couldn’t help but be a little bit curious about the man who raced through your mind every time you ran through hypothetical arguments with him.

“Such a shame that boys dead. A morbid way to go, isn’t it? Shooting yourself in the head.”

The liquid running down your throat came to a stop as you choked on the water. Your airways constricted because of the accidental slip-up, Mrs. Monroe’s blasé way of speaking had caught you completely off guard and now here you were fighting to get air in your lungs as her wrinkled hand patted you on the back.

Relief came soon after, your lungs gulping down the outside air like a fiend, your wide watery eyes locked on electric blue ones across the table. “I’m gonna check on the kids, would you mind helping Mr. Jerimovich?”

It was almost imperceptible but the look of appreciation that ghosted through his eyes was probably the only form of thanks you would get for helping him out of this situation. The two of you rose from your respective seats grabbing your trash before making your exit and stopping by the trash cans before beginning to make your rounds to check in on the students. The air was quiet between the two of you, and not in a comfortable way but more so suffocating.

“So you own a restaurant?” Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything but you weren’t sure how much awkward silence you could take.

You turned to look at him, the two of you stopping in a shaded area of the courtyard, the furrow of his brow enough to let you know he didn’t fancy making small talk with you. You let your eyes fall on all the children, watching as they conversed while eating, doing your best to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

“Nope,” his voice caught you by surprise, gaining your attention as he stared straight ahead. “I’m just some cog in the machine,” His eyes dropped to yours with little to no emotion scattered through them as he looked at you.

A tight smile lined your lips unsure of whether you should keep the conversation going or let it lapse back into silence. “I uh, I’m sorry to hear about your friend, he must've been struggling.”

His loud scoff proved that you’d chosen the wrong topic to fall back on, his body turning to you hostility lined his shoulders as he stood straight up. “You don’t know shit about Mikey.” The snarl decorating his lips was vicious, his eyes darted around your face daring you to speak again.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect it's just-,”

“Just what? Need more leverage to throw in my face the next time you have a little fuckin’ tantrum.” His words were full of anger, eyes lit up in excitement as though he was just waiting for you to bite, to latch onto the bait he’d set out for you.

And you took it just as easily, “A bit full of yourself to think you take up any space in my mind.” You crossed your arms over your chest as the lie left your lips, it's not like he needed to know that though.

He smirked the rise and fall of his chest brushed against your forearms, “You’re a fuckin’ liar.” His voice dropped an octave as his eyes darted around your face before trapping you in his gaze, “You wanna know how I know?”

You didn’t, but that didn’t stop you from nodding your head anyway, anticipation rolling around in your gut as you awaited his words.

“Because I do,” you frowned trying to understand what the hell he was trying to say. “I think about you and that bratty ass mouth of yours.”

His words were like a scrambled puzzle in your mind as your brain worked overtime to try and understand the exact meaning behind his words. It would’ve been presumptuous to believe he meant them in the way your brain was screaming he did, but what else could it mean when a man told you he thought about you?

The sound of a child crying pulled you from your stupor, dissipating whatever tension had risen between you and the man in your personal space. You wanted to say something, needed to say something but it's like your brain had turned to mush, no thoughts made any sense, no sentence structures that could live up to the words he just told you.

So you left. Turned on your heels to find the student whose wails had only grown louder and hoped your brain would return to its default settings sometime soon. Although you knew you would ruminate on his words long after today.

The time on your dashboard told you it was five minutes past the time you agreed upon for the reservation and if you sat in your car any longer your date would consider you a no-show. You sighed grabbing your clutch and keys off of the passenger seat before slowly exiting the car, a part of you wanting to just drive home and forget this ever happened.

Initially, you hadn’t planned on accepting his offer of dinner, not usually one to mix your professional life with your social life, but upon realizing how long it had been since your last date you figured accepting the invite would be harmless.

Taking one last look in the reflection on your window you steeled your nerves and made your way to the entrance of the restaurant. One last deep breath rattled your lungs before you opened the door and let the delicious aroma of food attack your senses. Upon entering you were immediately greeted by who you assumed to be a host.

“Welcome to The Bear do you have a reservation?” You stared blankly at the man in front of you eyes occupied with tracing the few patches of ink that were visible on his skin, you could tell you were making him uncomfortable as he began fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket.

Your eyes found his once more an apologetic smile on your lips, “Yeah, sorry uh I think the reservations under Vanderbilt? I’m meeting someone.”

The man stood across from you nodding eyes falling to the reservation book on the podium, his finger tracing the name before looking up at you once more. “Right this way m’lady.” He did a mock bow motioning for you to follow behind him, his actions getting a quiet laugh out of you.

You followed him through the maze of tables eyeing the other patrons as you passed them before coming to a stop. A quiet thank you passed between you and the host as he gracefully pulled your chair out for you before letting you know they’d be back to take your order shortly. You watched as he walked off, not ready to be left alone on your first date in months.

“Was starting to think you might not show.” Beau’s words tore you from your thoughts as your eyes flashed to his, an apologetic smile lined your lips.

You tried not to fiddle with your hands, moving them from atop the table to settle in your lap, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

He waved your words off as though you could’ve been an hour late and he wouldn’t have minded, “Have you been here before? It's fairly new but I think it used to be a sandwich place, the head chef’s some bigshot from New York.”

Quiet hums escaped you at his explanation, you would’ve never come to this restaurant of your own volition, the aesthetics were beautiful, and having only been here for a few minutes you already found it comforting. But your salary wasn’t designed to be spent on an establishment such as this.

“No, this is my first time.” The casual conversation was helping to steel any leftover nerves you had

“Well, I hope I can make it worth it.” He was charming, to say the least, you’d give him that, his words drawing a small smile out of you, maybe this would go better than you expected.

The two of you engaged in small talk a few minutes more discussing which entrees the both of you were thinking about getting before you were finally interrupted.

“Well aren’t the two of you just a handsome couple please forgive my forwardness but you complement each other exceptionally well.” The words were spoken from behind you, you had to stop yourself from laughing at how thick they were laying it on, Beau preened across from you like he’d got the best promotion of your life. “Are we ready to order?”

Beau gave a polite nod as his hand gestured towards you, “Ladies first.”

You smiled eyes checking the menu one last time before turning to give your order, your brain short-circuited at the figure standing over your table. Neither of you spoke, and both of your smiles slowly disappeared as realization set in at the same time.

“Mr. Jerimovich?” You hadn’t seen him since he chaperoned the field trip, usually bumping into Eva’s mom or stepfather during pick-ups and drop-offs.

“Sorry sweetheart, that's an off-the-menu item.” His voice had an underlying tone of humor in it as his eyes subtly traced across your face before taking in what he could see of you above the table.

You stared up at him taking in the crisp suit he was wearing, surprised that he owned something that wasn’t made predominantly of spandex and cotton. Amusement danced through your eyes and your lips ticked up in a small smile the longer you stared at each other. “Do you have any recommendations for what's on the menu then?”

The man stared down at you, eyes bouncing between yours as he rolled his lips in trying to hide the smile threatening to take over his face. “Well we’ve got rave reviews about our steak which I do have to agree with, but that makes me a bit biased.” He paused for a second making sure he hadn’t lost your attention. “But if your taste buds are longing for the sea, our amberjack might be what you're looking for.

You nodded, resting your head against the knuckles of your fist as you continued smiling up at him. “Sounds delicious, I’ll have the Bucatini.”

A laugh shot through him, the small shake of his head almost imperceptible as he gave you one last look before turning to the man across the table. Your own eyes found your date across from you, a surge of guilt raced through you as you realized you’d written off his presence. You listened as Beau ordered, the two men trading words regarding items on the menu before you were once again left alone with your date.

“You two seemed friendly, did you know him?” He was trying to play off at being nonchalant but the curiosity in his voice gave him away.

“Hardly, he’s a parent of one of my students.” You were surprised Beau hadn’t remembered him from the ‘Donuts With Dad’ event, but there was no way you were gonna bring up what happened between his nephew and Eva while you were off the clock. “So, tell me about yourself.”

And so he did throughout the whole meal, you were barely able to get a sentence out before he was back to making the conversation about him. You weren’t sure if he even realized he was doing it but you didn’t care all that much to call him out on it.

You’d zoned out after Beau once again began talking about his job in finance, listening just enough to know when you needed to appear interested. Your mind went back and forth on whether getting dessert is a good idea or not.

“Can I interest the lovely couple in our dessert menu?” It was like he read your mind, two dessert menus held in his hands as he looked between you and Beau, his stare seeming to linger on you longer than necessary.

Before you could even open your mouth to speak Beau’s voice spoke for you. “I think we’ll just take the checks, boss. Do me a favor and split it as evenly as you can.”

There was a moment of silence surrounding your table, you wished you could say you were surprised but that was far from the truth. While Beau initially seemed like a decent guy, the topics of conversation he always seemed to land on told you this was a signature move of his one of those “tests” to see if his dates were interested in him or the moneybags that came with his family name.

“You’re fine with that right, I mean I think it's only fair.” Beau’s words were aimed at you now eyebrows raised as if daring you to say no.

You rolled your eyes, fingers tracing around the wine glass you’d been babysitting for most of the night before you looked up at the older man a tight smile on your lips “We’ll take the check please.”

You watched in relief as his car exited the parking lot, a huge weight lifted off your chest at having been done with that date. He’d left with the promise of calling you the next day but you already knew you wouldn’t be answering that call.

Footsteps sounded from behind you, your lack of self-preservation skills had you spinning around before you’d thought better of it, upon seeing his face you leaned back onto the hood of your car arms crossing around your chest as you waited for him to stop in front of you. His hand stretched out in the distance between you before any words were spoken, your eyes fell to the wrapper in his hands, the streetlights bouncing off of it.

“You’re not trying to poison me are you?” His grip loosened around the square package as it passed from his hand to yours.

He shrugged hand falling back into his pocket, “Don’t think so highly of yourself princess, that would mean I gave a shit about you.”

A small chuckle left you as your eyes fell on the package in your hand, it took you a minute to figure out what it was before you realized it was a donut, a smile tugging at your lips as you thought about the last time the two of you had been together and donuts were involved.

The two of you stood in a comfortable silence for the first time since your initial meeting, neither of you knew what to say to the other seeing as this was your first ever interaction that hadn’t turned hostile.

“Don’t they have rules and shit about dating your students' parents?” His words were punctuated by the motion of him slipping a cigarette between his lips, his other hand using his lighter to light it. You watched as he took a few drags, not at all surprised to find out he was a smoker.

He took a few more puffs of the cigarette before holding it out to you in offering, your nose scrunched in disgust as you shook your head no before responding to the question he asked. “Technically he’s not a parent and the school year ends this week. So come Friday afternoon my students will no longer be my students.”

You looked at him, not breaking your stare as you opened the sweet treat, breaking off a piece and savoring the myriad of flavors as they settled on your tongue. The two of you fell back into that silence, the quiet chatter of Chicago’s nightlife filled in the absence your voices left.

“What the fuck did you see in that kid anyway?” You shrugged, breaking off another piece of the donut and eating it. “I mean who the fuck spends a whole date talking about how rich they are and then splits the bill? Motherfucker didn’t even leave a tip and you did.”

Amusement decorated your face as you watched him pace his tirade about your lackluster date borderline passionate. “Yo and don’t get me started on how fuckin’ boring that kid was. Like what the fuck would he even know what to do with a brat like you.”

Your eyebrows raised watching as he stomped out the cigarette, his body full-on facing you once more. You held the last piece of the donut out to him, eyes falling to his hand as it grazed yours, the glaring lack of a wedding band around his finger intriguing you.

He popped the bit into his mouth, lips wrapping around his forefinger and thumb as you spoke up. “You talk as if you know me.” Your eyes left his lips to hold his stare once more, “Tell me Mr. Jerimovich, what would you do with a brat like me?”

This was dangerous territory and you knew it but that didn’t stop you from wanting to dip your toes in and see how you’d come out the other side. You watched in anticipation as he looked at you, eyes heavy with every word running through his head that he wasn’t saying. His feet moved him forward, your knee brushed against his thigh as he slotted himself between your legs, your head tilting up to look at him from your seated position on the hood.

The air between the two of you was charged, both of you waiting for the other to bite first. You held his gaze determined to not be the first one to give in, his eyes left yours for a moment pools of blue dipping to the curve of your lips. You stilled as his hand reached out, the rough pad of his thumb gently rubbing across your bottom lip before tapping against it, his eyes daring you to open up even a little bit. Wherever he was concerned you would never back down from a challenge, and you didn’t, lips wrapping around the warm appendage as you sucked gently the taste of icing dancing across your tongue.

“I’d take care of this mouth of yours, wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with someone else.” It was like the world had gone silent, all you could hear was his husky voice and the loud pop your mouth made as he removed his thumb.

You could see that his pupils had blown wide, almost positive that yours looked the same, “What if I only want trouble with you?”

There was a split second of stillness before his hand shot out, the roughness of his palm wrapped around your neck with no intention of harming you, just a weight trapping you between him and the car. Without a second thought your hand reached out to wrap around his tie, a small pull on it was all you needed for him to get the message.

It was hot and heavy, all tongues and teeth the moment his lips found purchase on yours. All the months of pent-up frustration between the two of you were being poured into this kiss, your tongues locked in a battle as if whoever won was proof that they were the superior opponent. You took your chance to bite his bottom lip, the motion pulled a low grunt from his chest, his free hand moving to cup the small of your back as he scooted you even further down the hood, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist practically sitting in his lap at this point.

Surprise shot through you as the pressure on your neck became much more than decorative, as his large palm squeezed, your mouth opened wider in a gasp as he took the chance to shove his tongue down your throat. The eroticism of it all had your legs tightening around him as you searched for any friction, coming up empty as you languidly sucked on his tongue.

His mouth ripped away from yours, lips peppered heated kisses along your jawline as you looked at the stars through your lust-addled gaze, “Your mouth tastes like shit.” You weren’t sure why you said it but it was like you needed to rile him up.

A hoarse laugh left him as his lips and tongue began to lavish kisses around your throat, hand moving to push the sleeve of your dress down as his lips found your shoulder. You were lost in the ecstasy of it all before a sharp pain shot through you.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” His question was followed by another bite in the same spot as your head rolled back enjoying the painful ache it brought.

“N-no,” your words were broken off in a wanton moan as his lips glided across the exposed skin of your chest before his teeth sank into the flesh on your other shoulder.

It’d been so long since anyone had touched you like this and your brain felt like it was going into overdrive. You weren’t sure if he knew exactly how to make your body sing or if you were just so touch starved the simplest of touches would get you going.

A gasp escaped you as you felt his calloused fingertips skating up the exposed flesh of your thigh, the position he had you in made your dress bunch up around your waist. His mouth was still decorating the skin of your neck and while you should’ve told him not to leave any marks you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore, not when his fingers found the elastic of your panties that sat against your hip, and not when his big hand began massaging said hip.

You let out a quiet whine as his hand teased the band of your panties, the hand having skated further under your dress as he snapped the elastic against your skin. Your hand reached out to grip his bicep trying to ground yourself as his teasing made your head spin.

“P-please touch me Mr. Jerimovich.” You knew exactly what you were doing calling him that but in that moment you didn’t care, you just wanted him to stop teasing you.

His head shot up from your throat hand paused at your waist as he stared you down, his eyes were more black than blue now. The feeling of his blunt nails digging into your hip had you wincing, before you could even string together a sentence your mouth fell open on a high-pitched moan as his hips rammed into you the hardened length of his bulge began grinding into you both of his hands on either of your hips as he helped you rock yourself against him.

You could see the enjoyment in his eyes at watching you fuck yourself against him, each drag of his cock hit your clit deliciously the mixture of friction from your panties and the seam of his pants had your eyes welling up with tears as you bit your lip at the stimulation.

“You gonna fuckin’ cry?” You shook your head at his condescending question doing a horrible job of trying to remain unaffected. “You’re a real fuckin’ brat you know that? Arguin’ with me every chance you get, coming to my place of work with that fuckin’ loser.”

The raspiness of his voice was going to be your kryptonite and you needed him to shut the fuck up. Your hand untangled from his tie to reach for the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss just to get some silence. This kiss was different, a bit slower, and somehow a bit more passionate than the last. His lips moved tenderly against yours, his hands that found a home on your hips doing the same the slowness of the kiss translating to the tempo as he bucked up into you.

Your brain was already too overstimulated to try and understand why your heart began to feel like it was beating out of your chest, to piece together why being held against his chest like this felt like something you could see yourself enjoying and getting used to. Your mouths moved in sync with the tameness of the kiss not matching the ferocity either of you usually bestowed upon each other. The slowness of his hips rocking into yours was the icing on the cake, two bodies yearning for each other, for more than this parking lot tryst.

The sound of a car door closing pulled you from the fantasy drifting through your head, your body arching as far away from him as it could even though your need to continue being touched told you otherwise. His hands quickly left your hips, his whole body caging you in as he looked around the parking lot to make sure no one could see you. The noise had come from across the street, the civilian entering their car none the wiser to the reckless behavior you were engaged in.

It hit you all at once as you looked up at him eyes wide and filled with tears that slowly began to shed. Your palms pressed into his chest shoving him away from you as you hurriedly scrambled to get off of the car, hands fumbling to pull your dress down jumping in place as the warmth of his hands began helping you.

“You good?”

“No!” You hadn’t meant to shout but your nerves pushed you over the edge, you shook your head as he raised his hands in defense. “I’m a teacher and I almost let you fuck me in public. What if someone saw? I could lose my job.”

The consequences of your actions were beginning to set in. You were too busy in your world of lust whatever logic you had seemed to slip away with every caress of his fingers, every press of his mouth. You weren’t a reckless person and maybe that’s what drew you into this situation: a desire to throw caution to the wind, the tears streamed down your face as you ran through every negative scenario racing through your head.

“Hey, c’mere,” you didn’t get a chance to argue before his hands were pulling you into his chest, one holding your head against him while you tried to calm down. “Shh, you’re gonna be okay. I promise no one saw, nothing's gonna happen.”

You scoffed, moving your head to look at him, not interested in any lies. “Mr. Jeri-,”

“Richie.” His hand on your neck began massaging soothing circles into your flesh, the light touch calmed you a bit, “Call me Richie.”

It felt too personal. From the way he held you in the dim parking lot trying to alleviate your worries, to the way he looked at you eyes full of an emotion you weren’t quite used to seeing as you stared at him.

“I…I should go.” You made no move to step out of his embrace, eyes locked on his as his hand gently squeezed the back of your neck.

You stepped out of his embrace, the chilly Chicago air sent a shiver down your spine at the loss of body heat. You watched in silence as he stripped out of his suit jacket, your eyes landing on the smear of your makeup against his once pristine white shirt, eyes falling a little lower to the wet patch you’d left on the front of his slacks, white-hot shame shooting through you. You didn’t say anything as he wrapped the jacket around your shoulders, nodding your head in thanks too embarrassed to apologize for the stains you’d left on his clothes.

Neither of you spoke or made any indication of moving, his hands falling back into his pants pockets as you tugged the jacket tighter around yourself.

“Richie? Where you at man were ready for that little debrief thing you like doing.” The voice made you jump trying to fold in on yourself while Richie stepped in front of you hiding you from view in case the person walked around the derelict fence hiding the two of you from the back door to the restaurant.

“Just uh give me a minute Marcus!” Your eyes stayed glued to his back, wishing more than anything for this whole night to end and pretend it never happened.

He stood still until the sound of the door slamming shut reached his ears before his body swiveled back around to face you. “You good to drive home?”

You nodded, sending him a tired smile as the two of you began walking to the driver’s side door. Digging through your clutch you found your keys unlocking the car, stepping out of the way as he opened the door for you guiding you to get in. You stopped with one foot in the car turning to shimmy out of his jacket before his hands landed on your shoulder stopping your movements.

“Don’t worry about it.” You unconsciously settled into him, his fingers working out the tension you held onto. Your breath hitched as his hands skated from your shoulder to your neck before finding purchase on your cheeks, the rough skin of his thumbs gently swiping the tear stains away.

You felt vulnerable under his gaze, not sure if you were comfortable with him looking at you without that glimmer of anger and frustration in his eyes. He leaned forward unexpectedly, chapped lips burning a tender kiss into the skin of your forehead, lips lingering for longer than necessary before he pulled back.

“Do me a favor and get home safe.” The side of his lips ticked up in a smile.

Before you could lose your resolve you leaned in, kissing the edge of his lips where the ghost of a smile began before stepping the rest of the way into your car and watching as he stepped out of the way to close your door. He watched you drive off a small wave of his hand sent in your direction.

You drove home in a daze, mind still back in that parking lot. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth as your car filled with the scent of nicotine mixed with pine trees the only culprit of the scent was the jacket neatly sat in your passenger seat. The choice of cologne was so odd it was surprising you hadn’t smelled it when you were trying to devour Richie in the parking lot, a smile raised to your lips before you started laughing at the chaotic night you had.

Your laughs died down as you promised yourself that it would never happen again, even though you could feel the growing urge to throw yourself into whatever that was headfirst. But logic was slowly coming back to you, giving you a myriad of reasons why it was a horrible idea and why it couldn’t happen again.

And now all you had to remember the moment was a jacket that smelled like nicotine mixed with some weird woodsy musk cologne and the yearning feeling left behind by his bruising kiss.

a/n: i hope you’re all doing well please enjoy! feel free to interact however you see fit! 🫶🏽

[buggybambi]

imagine richie shamelessly flirting with the new waitress at the bear as a 'joke '

he's being charming, flirting with her every chance he gets and she's oblivious to his antics but is still nice to him

after a while, the lines for richie becomes blurred and he starts to develop real feelings

so, while he's having this internal crisis, tiff drops eva at the bear and everyone's really busy, including richie

and the waitress takes care of eva & she's just so sweet to her, and when richie sees the two girls he loves having fun with each other, he knows he's far gone

(i need that old man so bad it's not even funny anymore-)

-🪷

my lotus. i'm obsessed.

okay.

richie and you had first met when you began working for the bear. being trained by him, it meant you two were spending a lot of time together. late nights, early mornings. you two would talk over coffee when you could sneak in a break during kitchen prep, you'd talk when marcus had you two try his newest pastries.

the first time he flirted with you, it was an accident. just slipped. but then it became your 'thing'. it was that teasing flirting, you know? pet names for each other, the whole shabang.

over the months you and him spend together, richie begins feeling the lines blurred. what's real and what's not between you two? it's the age old question. are you calling him honey as a joke or is that real? is his contact name 'R HONEY' to fit that joke or whatever?

he can feel himself falling in love with you. and before he can catch himself, he dives into it when he sees you and eva interacting.

tiff had rushed to the bear one afternoon when she was called into work. it was unexpected and in the middle of the lunch rush, and you'd been at the front when eva was dropped off, backpack in hand.

you guided her away from the chaos and into the back office. you and her talked about how excited she was for weekend plans with richie, what she learned in school. by the time richie found you two, you were talking her through her math homework. your voice was soft, you were patient with her.

he's in love.

by the time he realizes, he's so far gone. he knows it's the kind of love that could metaphorically kill him. you and him watch over eva together, and you help him load her into the car.

when he and eva are driving back to tiff's house, it's silent until eva's small voice speaks up. "are you in love with y/n, daddy?"

well, shit. if the kid can figure it out, maybe you have, too.

he returns to the bear where he knows you'll be, cleaning up with syd. he finds you in the front, sweeping the floors. before you can greet him, he's blurting it out. "i'm in love with you."

it's a blur. his ears are filled with the sound of his heartbeat and he knows you're talking, he can see your perfect lips moving but he can't hear you. it isn't until you're in front of him he can hear you clearly.

"i love you, too."

one of my favorite movie quotes is from the princess bride, where they say that since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were the most passionate, the most pure.

the one you and richie share buries them all in a fucking grave.

[juuuulez]

old man richie who doesn’t quite get all the things his young girlfriend does.

like diy eyelash clusters? he walks into the bathroom one day and you’re holding an eyelid open, little black lashes pinched between tweezers as you meticulously place them on your lash line. the sight makes him grimace, keeping his distance and standing near the wall.

“the fuck you doin’?” richie asks, “isn’t a professional ‘sposed to do that?”

you glance at him through the mirror while picking up another cluster. “well, yeah. but this is cheaper and quicker, tons of women do it themselves now.”

richie makes a noise of acknowledgment, coming closer to peer at the supplies you’ve got laid out across the counter. his gaze flickers back up to you, watching the glue get applied to the bulb, before you’re holding your eye open again.

“does it hurt?” he asks.

you try not to grin, not wanting to mess this up. “why would it hurt?”

“i don’t fuckin’ know, that’s why i asked.” richie would grouse, already backing off because seeing your eyes like that is kinda creepy.

he wouldn’t understand stanley cups either.

like, they’re so expensive! and it’s a cup, sweetheart, we’ve got plenty in the house.

richie shows his adamant disapproval when one shows up a week later, going on about how a plastic drink bottle would do the same job, and you’d still have all your money. “straight up robbery,” is what he calls it.

but after sex? take your eyes off him and he’s drinking out of your goddamn stanley. you’ll scold him and whine, because “richie! you’re drinking all my freaking water!” but he adamantly insists that your water tastes better than the water on his bedside.

which, it does, of course, in all it’s crisp cold glory.

[angelcakestarlet]

salvatore

richie jerimovich x reader - richie makes carmy regret hiring the cute young waitress

wrote dis quick, messy, nd did not look over it but enjoy! :>

"so um look, natalie is going to be training you this week alright" carmy informs you as he sifts through a pile of papers scattering his desk. "you ever serve before?", "for a few months yeah, it's been getting me through college so" you twiddle your thumbs nervously. the restaurant was certainly... intimidating? going to school in chicago you had stopped by a couple times for lunch or drunk off your ass after the club. even while slurring your words you could remember how fucking good that sandwich was. even if most of it was puked up in the bushes out front.

"yo, cousin!" an abrasive voice comes stumbling through carmy's office door without warning, "sugar is out here telling me some bullshit about you hiring servers? look we don't need that shit. a sandwich comes out i fucking hand it to them, boom. why are you gonna pay some dipshit to do it for me?". you turn around to face the loud voice, being met with a tall, tan, buzzcut typical line cook with a deep accent. "jesus fucking christ, one of these 'dipshits' is standing in front of you richie." carmy yells back, obviously pained to have you witness that. "ah shit-" richie steps back to get a full length view of you, taking you in. his gaze felt like an intrusion. "i'm sorry, doll, richie jerimovich." he envelopes your hand in his calloused and rough one, introducing himself. "you know what i'm sorry, cousin, anyone with a set of eyes would hire her too" he snickers, with his hand still atop yours he takes his eyes away from you to acknowledge carmen. "cousin, get the fuck out, you fucking creep!" signaling for the door. "oh my god" richie sighs dramatically, "i'm stating the fucking obvious alright, you need marcus to come in here to tell you the same thing? yo, marcus!" carmen rushes to shove richie out the door, "i'm sorry, i couldn't help myself! look, you're beautiful, sweetheart!" he lets out one last compliment. you giggle to yourself and the man making a spectacle of himself.

carmen shuts the office door and sighs, rubbing his forehead with his tired hand. "i'm sorry, he's... he's a fucking jagoff." you appreciate the apology, but having worked in a restaurant has you accustomed to the snickers and comments from line cooks and customers alike. most of the girls usually brush it off, leaving them disgusted and a distaste for the job for the next few hours. but, your guilty pleasure has become using it to your benefit. free food from cooks, more money from tips, etc. you're sure you could work richie to your benefit just the same. "don't worry about it, he seems... nice" your ease settles carmy and he snickers, "you could say that i guess".

you follow natalie around the restaurant for the next few hours as she takes you through the front of the house and back, introducing you to everyone and all the standards. when five o clock hits, she lets you go, handing you an apron, a t-shirt. and a name tag. thanking her and setting out to find the back alley for a quick ciggy. you find richie lighting a cigarette in the dimly lit alley, "can i bum a cigarette?" you sit down beside him, smelling the smoke clinging to his shirt. "its your first day and you're asking me for shit?" he looks over at you and you notice his evident wrinkles, veins in his neck, and tired eyes. "pretty please?" you look up at him, turning your whole body to face him with a sweet smile on your face. he rolls his eyes playfully, "you know what you're doing huh?" he says as he pulls one more cigarette from its box. "open." you scrunch your eyebrows, confused at his request. his eyes shift to your lips, taking two fingers and tapping your cheek signaling for you to open your mouth. "come on," you separate your lips and he places a cigarette between them, lighting it swiftly. you feel your cheeks get warm, from the cigarette or from his words you don't know (yes you do). "thank you" you say quietly, still stunned a bit. "you know you're gonna ruin that sweet face smoking" he coughs through the lit cigarette. "oh are you telling me what to do now, richie?" you lean back, eyes entranced by the way his hands make the cigarette almost look like a lollipop stick. "a girl like you is probably looking for someone to tell her what to do, sweetheart". as you're trying to figure out whether that just pissed you off or turned you on, carmy bursts through the back door. "cousin, what the fuck are you doing?! we need you in the kitchen, now please! and leave the new girl alone, jesus" carmy yells as richie stomps on what's left of his cigarette and puts his hands up in defense. "i'm coming, fuck off. it was a pleasure, babe" he shakes your hand and makes his way inside. you peer at the closed door, listening to the muffled argument carmy and richie have in front of it. great first day.

[thecapricunt1616]

Coriander (c.b. one-shot)

Snippet (more BTC): “I thought you'd never ask. I’m gonna go to the back office and wait. If you think you know what I need, then come on back. If you don’t want to, we can just pretend this never happened mm?” you got up, making sure to sway your hips a tad more as you went to the back office. You pushed the door shut behind you and dropped your tote under the desk, sitting down on it and leaning back against the wall. He came in 2 minutes later, cheeks red, biting his lip as he opened the door and saw you sitting on the desk.”

♡ Chapter Inspo: Love, health, immortality, and protection. Tie fresh coriander with a ribbon and hang in the home to bring peace & protection. Add to love charms and spells to bring romance or use in ritual work to ease the pain of a broken love affair. Promotes peace among those who are unable to get along. Use the seeds in love sachets and spells. ♡ Summary: You are in a FWB situation with Richie, Mikey dies - Carmy comes home to run The Beef, and suddenly...you find yourself in a FWB situation with Carmy as well, what happens when Carmy makes you two official in secret so he can have you all to himself? ♡ W/C: 5.3K+ ♡ Posted Date: 05/29/2024 ♡ A/N: Hellooooo! Happy day 4/7 of the Capri 200 Follower Celebration Extravaganza!!! You can find said extravaganza ♡Here♡ this celebration will be going until next Sunday (06/02/24) so get your requests in! Here's another celebration ask on the books! This ask is from a sweet anon, ask can be found right ♡Here♡ - Thank you so much for your request! As you can tell by the word count I got very inspired! I hope you enjoy :D This could easily have a part 2 so if you want one, just let me know in the comments This is kind of a Richie/Carmy thing i've never written Richie before and I had a whole lot of fun doing so! ♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, FWB Relationships, Smoking, Usual TB trigger warnings, Asshole!Carmy (kinda), Angst, No real comfort to be found in the end, Age gap relationships, Rough sex, smutsmutsmut, No uses of Y/N, Reader not described (pics are for vibes only)

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

You had been working at The Bear since it was The Beef. 3 months before Mikey died, you were hired as a food runner. You’d met Mike maybe twice? Both times, the guy was high out of his mind- so you couldn’t say much about his character. 

Richie on the other hand, was flirty. He was handsome, he was funny, he had a huge cock. You were in your third year of college, Richie was smitten with your girlish charm, and you’d fucked those 3 months pretty consistently - until Carmy came back to Chicago. 

You’d been warned his ‘cousin’ was a big shot NYC chef, ‘Michelin Starred’ Richie said one night while fucking your brains out after a stressful shift as he smoked a cigarette in his shitty, dimly lit apartment. Puffs of smoke left his lips as your ass bounced against his hips and he rambled on about what had pissed him off today, 

“Ye’ sweetheart- fuck-“ he took a long inhale before continuing -  “mm’y’fuckin tight baby- shit-“ he stuttered as your pussy clenched around his cock firmly as your second orgasm washed over you, thighs shivering. “Thaaas it- huh? Gooood girl. Knew y’could do it babygirl” he kissed the dimple on your spine as you shivered, tendrils of smoke trailing up your back and over your hips. 

He then sat up, casually taking another drag, tightening his non-dominant hand around your hip so there would be little fingertip bruises once more over the yellowing hearing ones, and continued, his bruising pace getting rougher and quicker as he continued chasing his own orgasm. 

The meat of your ass and the skin of his hips made smacking sounds as they came together. Pathetic little whines drag from your lips with each rough kiss the tip of his cock gave your cervix as he just continued talking like he wasn’t using you like a fuck doll. 

“he uh, has a Michelin star- whatever that means? He’s a little prick. Guess that’s ahh-fuck- that’s why Mike left it t’him- he knows how t’make fancy shit- little fuckin’ Eleven Madison Park dickhead”  he grunted as he filled you up, spanking you roughly for good measure. 

“Good girl. Always take it like a little whore mm?” He puts out his cigarette in the ashtray. He pats your hip gently as he pulls out, collapsing next to you with an old man grunt that you always teased him for. “Ey’ sweet girl, Y’wanna rub my back since I fucked y’so good mm? So I won’t be sore at work tomorrow?” He pulled you close, kissing your neck, his stubble making you shiver as cum leaked down your beard-burned thighs. 

That was how you spent one to three nights a week since you’d started working at The Beef. 

Then, Carmy came. For the first 6 or so months, it was business as usual for you and Richie. Quiet spanks on the ass as you walked by him during rush as you brought food out to a customer, sometimes letting him fuck your face in the back alley as he went on about what an asshole Carmen was being that day. 

You just took it, the fighting, the bickering, the sexual tension. You were the go-between for the both of them, when they weren’t talking Richie would bug you to go tell Carmy what he needed to say. “Immature asshole” you’d call him at the end of the day as he knelt between your thighs in that same shitty apartment, sucking on your clit while his beard scratched up your thighs. He’d just chuckle into you, squeezing your thighs amusedly with his large hands. 

Then one day, you were in the dry storage, grabbing something for Marcus that was on the bottom shelf and heavy. You were bent over, trying to tug it out and the door shut behind you.  “Hey- sorry just gonna reach over you-“ Carmy. When you felt him press against your ass like that, his tattooed hand resting on your hip. You felt heat rushing straight for your core, your stomach flipping and fluttering.

Then, you started making moves. A brush of the hand here, a smile there, a giggle at one of his dorky jokes no one else bothered to pay attention to, of course, he noticed. The young piece of ass that used to spend all day giggling and shooting the shit with his older cousin was into him now. The first night it happened, you made sure to pick up a double on a day you usually didn’t go home with Richie, and while everyone except Carmy did their best to rush out the door as soon as they possibly could, you stuck behind. 

You went to the bathroom, fixed up your hair, and your makeup not enough to be noticeable to a guy that you’d changed, but enough to look fresh. You put on some more lipgloss, freshening up your body spray and hiking your tote bag onto your shoulder before heading out of the ladies' room into the back-of-house. You heard the swish swish of a scrub brush, and the plopping of water - and knew Carmy was still in there scrubbing something. When you turned the corner to see him on his hands and knees, muscular arms flexing as he really scrubbed that floor. You could tell there was something….about Carmen Berzatto. 

It wasn’t just the fact his brother died, it wasn’t this strange stoic seriousness he had at not even 35, it was something else. Dedication, maybe? But you weren't sure to what because not a day went by without referring to the restaurant as ‘a shithole with decent sandwiches’ - you knew he was just keeping it running because it’s what Cicero wanted and no one denied that man. But you wanted to see if that dedication or learning ability translated into the bedroom. “Damn- You could eat off that grout” you teased. His head popped up, blue eyes twinkling under the iridescent lights.

This damn family and their pretty eyes

“The hell you still doin’ here? Y’shift ended what-” he looked at the clock, “An hour and six minutes ago” he continued scrubbing at the tile with the tiny little brush. 

“Oh you memorized my shift schedule?” you teased, a small smile on your lips. You were towering over him, being sure to block his light so he would give you his attention once more.

“I make the schedule, yeah I know when my employees work” he looked up at you again “n’y’re in my light” he pushed his greasy curls out of his way with his dry hand. 

“Mmm- last I checked Chef Syd did the scheduling- unless…that changed?” you asked and he looked back at the floor, scrubbing over the same spot he had been since you came over here. 

He made a little ‘mm’ noise and was quiet for a few moments as he continued to scrub. “So why are you still here if y’not gettin’ paid?” he asked again. You crouched next to him, hugging your knees and he stopped, looking over at you. He could smell your perfume perfectly, your lipgloss glitter was shimmering in the light. He could very well near smell the mint coming off of your breath from the gum you had chewed an hour earlier. He swallowed thickly, blinking a few times how he did when he was confused he noticed and his eyes fan to your lips before back up to your eyes. “Uh-”

You cut him off “Cause I haven’t met you, Carmy. We haven’t talked, Why’s that?” you question with a small, innocent smile. It was true, he all but ignored you while he’d been here. The only time he spoke to you was when he absolutely had to tell you something or when he was assigning you your morning tasks when you first got in. 

“W-What d’you wanna know?” he asked, tongue darting out to quickly wet his lips. He was nervous. 

“Why do you ignore me for starts” you jet your bottom lip slightly out into a little barely there pout for added effect, “Tina asked me a few days ago what I did, so what did I do Carmy?” you ask gently. You knew it was because you caught him staring at you so often he thought you thought he was a creep, but you thought it was adorable how flustered he got when he’d been caught and quickly tried to make it look like he’d been focused on something else. 

“Nothin- nothin’ y-you didn’t do anything m’sorry I made you feel- what’re you-” he trailed off as you gently fixed his Saint Anthony chain so it was facing front, carefully slipping your finger under the loop and pinching it between your forefinger and thumb, adjusting the clasp to be at the back of his neck. 

“Sorry, small things like that bug me, I think little things bug you too, Carm” you said softly. His cheeks were getting pink, his pupils were widening. Your plan was working. “Is this ok?” you gently fixed the sleeve of his t-shirt over his bicep, the fabric deliciously stretching over his buff arm 

“Mhmm” he muttered, breath catching as your hand trailed up his shoulder and resting there. “Did you um- did you need something…” he asked, voice that delicious kind of soft you adored. 

“I thought you'd never ask. I’m gonna go to the back office and wait. If you think you know what I need, then come on back. If you don’t want to, we can just pretend this never happened mm?” you got up, making sure to sway your hips a tad more as you went to the back office. You pushed the door shut behind you and dropped your tote under the desk, sitting down on it and leaning back against the wall. He came in 2 minutes later, cheeks red, biting his lip as he opened the door and saw you sitting on the desk.

He blinked rapidly, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing “Jesus Christ” he muttered to himself, shutting the door behind him. “Y-y’re sure. Like- wait you mean- you mean you want me t-” 

“Do whatever you want with me, chef,” you told him in a sultry tone, watching him closely as he walked over. You’d assumed he’d be just like Richie, rough, unforgiving, and sometimes even a little mean, but the way he cupped your cheek was…gentle. 

“Are you sure you want this? M’y’r boss..I don’ want you t’feel like i’m…making you, ‘er somethin’” he ran his thumb over your cheekbone. He was so close that you could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath as well as the musky scent of the long workday mixed with his cologne. You were nearly put in a trance by it. In response, you gently rest your palm on the back of his neck, pulling him closer and giving him a gentle kiss. 

He leaned forward, resting his hand on the side of your thigh and kissing you back, his lips hesitant on yours at first but when he felt your tongue swipe his bottom lip, his hand moved to your shoulder and gently squeezed as he opened his mouth, tongue darting out to find yours. He moaned softly at your taste, his breath coming out in small hot puffs that fanned your upper lip as you explored his mouth with your tongue. His hand that was on the desk gently moved to your hip, giving a tentative squeeze. You grabbed it, bringing it to your breast and with your hand over his, guiding him to squeeze and massage it. 

He let out a little hum of realization and did as you asked, only able to do so much with a t-shirt bra and work shirt, he with trembling hands tugged at the bottom of your navy blue The Beef t-shirt, asking for permission to take it off. You pulled away, swiftly taking off the shirt and reconnecting your lips with his. Your hands made your way behind your back, unhooking your bra and pulling it off, bringing both of his hands to your breasts. You whine softly as he pinches and rolls your nipples between his fingers, the action making them even harder and perkier. He kissed down your jaw, nipping gently and sucking on the sensitive skin. 

Richie can’t know this happened 

“N-no marks babe- kay?” you said a bit breathlessly, hand trailing up to gently tug at his hair. He hummed in response, kissing down and mouthing over the hickeys Richie had left earlier in the week. You bit your lip as he continued to roll and tug your nipples kissing down your neck and when he finally got to your breasts you heard him mutter

“So fuckin perfect” before he took one of your perky abused nipples into his mouth, lightly sucking as you combed through his curls, taking out all the knots with your nimble fingers. With his other hand, he continued to massage your other breast, causing a moan to fall from your lips. 

“You wanna fuck me? Mm? Right here over the desk? You can go as hard as you want yea?” you told him, it was nice that he was spending so much time dedicated to making you feel good, but were confused why he hadn’t just…bent you over and gotten it over with by now like Richie usually did when you fucked at work. 

He pulled off with a pop, looking up at you with those wide eyes that had been darkened with lust. “Uh- Can I taste you..instead?” he asked shyly, resting his chin on your sternum gently, his hot breath puffing from his nose and tickling your chest. You raised your brows, looking at the clock - wasn’t he exhausted?! If he ate you out, that would be what - another 15 minutes on top of him getting off, would probably be another 20, so you both wouldn’t be getting out of there until 1:30 or so. 

Well, if it's what he wants.

“Sure honey” You got up, slipping out of the sweats you took the train home in usually, setting them on the desk to sit on and pushing your panties down as well after kicking off your Ugg slipper shoe-type things and sitting back on the desk, spreading your thighs for him and resting one of your heels on the edge. His mouth parted slightly, nearly dropping to his knees, his curls falling in front of his eyes but he didn’t seem to care as he kissed your inner thighs, almost enjoying his time getting you worked up. He gently sucked on your nether lip, groaning lightly at your flavor. Your mouth drops as you watch him, fully blissed out as he laps at your wet folds.

“Holy shit Carmy” you breathe, gently pushing his bangs back so you could see his pretty blue eyes once again. He looks up at you, sandy brown long lashes nearly touching his bushy brows as he connects his mouth with your clit, flicking his tongue over it and running his jaw back and forth messily, a mix of drool and your arousal running over his chin. “Wow feels so good - doin’ so good Carmy” you breathe, head falling back in pleasure and breathing picking up. He was really good at this. When Richie was in the mood (AKA his back wasn't hurting, or his knees, or his shoulder) he would give you the pleasure of eating you out, and he did it well, he always made sure you came when he did it, and you never had to fake it with him.

You weren’t going to have to fake it with Carmy, either, because holy shit - he was amazing at this. You felt that familiar tightening within’ your stomach within minutes. He took one of your thighs, throwing it over his shoulder to give himself a better angle, and ran his tongue down, slipping it inside of your pussy and moaning as you gush over his tongue when his nose runs back and forth over your clit, stimulating it most deliciously. Your thigh twitched, toes curling, and a sharp moan comes from your throat, biting down roughly on your lip. “God- god Carmy, I’m cumming” you warn, Gripping his curls rougher which seemed to edge him on, rubbing you rougher with his nose and curling his tongue up against your gummy walls, wet lewd noises coming from between your thighs. 

Within moments there was a fire of pleasure shooting beneath your skin as you cried out in ecstasy. Your eyes rolled beneath your lids, letting go of his hair and gripping the desk instead with a crushing grip as he worked you through the intense waves of overstimulating delight that ripped through you relentlessly. He finished with a chaste kiss on your thigh before grabbing your bra and helping you put it on as well as your panties, even finding the shirt you’d thrown and shaking off the dust from the floor before handing it over. “That was uh…really good, thank you” he wiped his chin and lips with the back of his hand, rubbing it on the back of his jeans. You shamelessly stared at his crotch and noticed the hard bulge in his jeans before looking back up at him.

“You don’t want to get rid of that? I can suck you off if you want I have a hair tie” you said, holding up your wrist to show him. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. 

“No- no you don’t owe me anything, I got what I needed don’worry. See y’tomorrow- make sure you leave through the back I already locked up the front” he said, leaving the office and closing the door behind him to give you some privacy. You sat in shock for a moment, blinking a few times. All he wanted from you was to eat you out? You’d never met another guy who simply ate you out and that was it - they’d always…expected something from you after, and of course, you gave it because you felt like they’d paid you a favor just by eating you out first even if you didn’t finish. You slip your work shirt back on, get up, and put on your sweats with shaky legs before slipping your shoes back on. 

It continued like this, the days you weren't fucking Richie, you were in the back office getting eaten until you nearly passed out. Until The Beef started getting renovated, then the days you weren’t getting your brains fucked out in Richie's bed, your thighs spread wide at odd hours of the morning on Carmens’ couch, some random cooking show playing in the background as he lapped at your pussy like a man starved on his knees in front of you after kissing down your body like you were a goddess to be worshipped. If you were quite honest, you liked this routine. It felt perfect for you, you knew where your feelings lay for both of the men, and it was a stable comfortable routine on both sides. 

For Richie, it was fun and flirtatious. Sneaky spanks when you came to visit and help him renovate the restaurant with Neil, rough makeout sessions in the back alley when he went out for a smoke, rough near bruising quickies in the soon-to-be walk-in freezer that hadn’t been set up yet, so it was a nice little private area you two could go. He’d even started stealing a kiss or two when you weren’t being sexual. He was protective of you, Carmy started noticing this. That was why a few weeks before the big opening, he had started being a bit more handsy with you. 

The two of you started spending a lot more time together, and you realized he was even opening up to you a bit more. He began asking to see you more often, taking you out with him when he had to run errands for the opening. When he took you with him to the restaurant supply store, he had his hand rested on your lower back, gently rubbing circles as he explained to you the difference between the bunch of different kinds of cutlery. You had been baffled that there were 11 different kinds of butter knives there and he explained to you the difference between them, as well as showed you which sets went together.

It was strange you were clenching your thighs together while a man chatted you up over silverware, but the way he guided your hand to hold them so you were doing it ‘properly’ when you picked one up to get a closer look, had your heart jumping to your throat. That specific encounter was the first time you’d been able to really fuck him, and also draw some dominance out of him as well. It wasn't even his day with you, he knew it - he very well knew this, but little did you know that was the reason why he did it. You rode him hard and fast in the back of his van in the parking lot, he’d made sure to move to a spot in the way back where no one else had been parked so the two of you didn’t get caught and thrown on a registry, of course.

So, that night when you had met up with Richie after he had made you dinner and bent you over the couch for your usual Wednesday night activities - by the first yank of your hips you squeaked, “Gentle - please, daddy, not too rough..” you were glad he was taking you from behind, because you couldn’t bare the confused sweet sorry look on his face. You never asked him to be gentle with you, of course he obliged- because it was all an act. Richie was a big softie, a teddy bear. He just liked to fool around and put on the big mean daddy act in the bedroom because it was fun for the both of you.t in the bedroom because it was fun for the both of you. But he would never really want to hurt you. 

“Wha’s wrong baby, mm? Why you hurtin’?” He held you up by your ribs, sweetly kissing your hairline as he thrusted slower and softer in and out of you, gently resting his lips against your forehead “was I too hard Monday? M’sorry my sweet girl” he rubbed over your breast gently as he continued his gentler strokes. His sweet girl. That caused your heart to sting a bit. You didn’t know that he liked you too, the same way you liked him. Unless it was just an act? You hope it was an act. 

“Yeah” you said, knees going weaker when he reached around your front and toyed with your clit, your hips bucking at the soreness Carmen had left you with earlier. 

“Yeah? Y’never been like this before sweetheart” he kissed over your neck, beard scratching at your skin. 

“Mm- s’okay- feels good- like it when it hurts like this” you rest your head back on his shoulder, closing your eyes and feeling a pit of guilt setting in your stomach. Would it hurt him if he found out you had started fooling around with Carmy? You hoped not, but couldn’t help but wonder. They were family. Most of all you would hope it wouldn’t make him insecure due to the much closer proximity Carmy and your ages were. You were so lost in your own head that you didn’t even realize he was finishing inside of you like normal moaning into your hair. 

“So good- such a good girl” he kissed your head. “go get cleaned up kid, gotta get outta here early t’day cus’ I needa go to Eva’s school play thing” he pats your ass gently and pulled out, leaving you draped over the arm of the couch naked from the waist down and cum leaking down your thighs. You shut your eyes for a moment, rubbing over your face before standing up and doing as he said. 

A little over a week later, Carmy asked you to go straight with him. Well. Not really, he asked you if you were fucking other people to which you gave a simple yes and he just said ‘oh…wish I could be the only one’ you teased him and asked if that meant you wanted to be together, just the two of you and he said yes. So, you stopped fucking Richie. You stopped letting him kiss you in dry storage - you stopped having your ass be available for slapping as he walked by. 

And man, was it hard. He looked like a sad puppy, a small pout coming to his lips when you turned your cheek causing him to kiss that instead of your lips. “ ‘ey-“ he turned your face towards him “where’s my kiss?” You just looked down at the floor, before turning and grabbing the bag of onions you’d been sent in there to get and saying 

“I don’t think we should keep doing this. We should…just work together.” As much as you hated to say it, you did. Then you left the dry storage, and Richie felt his heart crack slightly. Things with him felt way more real then with Carmy, but Carmy was the one who asked you to be his, so you just…went with who asked. You had thought that was the best choice. Even though you stomped on his heart that day, he still cracked jokes with you, and was the same sweet dork you worked with before you started hooking up, the sweet dork that made you want to hook up with him in the first place. 

2 days before the friends and family opening, Carmy invited you over to his so he could cook for you. You’d been able to have his cooking once before, when he’d had you come over right in front of Richie at The Beef, and held a spoon to your lips, a hand under your chin for you to try something he’d come up with. Tonight he was making his familys pasta, and when you’d got there you nearly jumped his bones when he was wearing a work shirt from The Beef. You’d never seen him in it before, he’d never worn it to work even though everyone else had to be wearing theirs.

 You had a joke with yourself that he knew how yummy and slutty he looked in those stupid plain white t’s so thats why he kept wearing them.

“Hey sexy” You’d said when he opened the door, standing on your toes to kiss him deeply. He hummed, pulling you inside quickly and shutting the door behind you both so no neighbors would see. He grabbed your ass with his palms, squeezing it and spanking you lightly.

“Hey pretty girl” he said, kissing your top lip messily “y’hungry, right? Dinners almost done” he carefully brushed your hair from your face, looking down into your eyes with one of his sweet smiles.

“Mm always hungry for the best chef in the worlds food” you mused, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and playing with his curls “Why’d you never wear this at work, mm? Y’look sexy babe” you kissed his neck. He hummed, hands trailing up your back and palming over your ribs.

“Cause they’re itchy, and it’s laundry day” he said as you rubbed over his chest, grabbing at his pecks and squeezing at the flesh. He chuckled, brushing your hands “jesus someones handsy eh? He cupped your cheeks, angling your eyes towards him “food’ll burn, go wash up yeah? I’ll get y’plate ready” he pecked your lips and ran his hands down your front, grabbing your hand nd pressing it to his lips before heading back to the kitchen.

You followed as he said, going to the restroom and washing your hands as well as your makeup off with the makeup wipes that lived in his bathroom for you now, before going to his bedroom. You stepped out of your stupid waitress uniform, slipping on his white shirt that kissed just below your bum. You padded out to the kitchen, seeing him wiping the edge of your plates off with a paper towel, a kitchen rag over his shoulder. God, he looked so amazing in his element. “Hey” you said gently, going to hug him from behind 

“Hey sweet girl, just about done” he sprinkled some fresh parsley over the dish masterfully, before gently rubbing over the back of your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing it. “How was the train?” he asked and you pulled away, walking over to his couch and sitting since he’d never bothered to get a kitchen table. 

“Okay, weirdo was playing a ukelele again” you plopped down, crossing your legs and looking over at the random dutch cooking program he had been watching from his station in the kitchen, “You speak dutch?” you asked, he chuckled and you weren’t sure at which statement. 

“No, I don’t, I just watch, and I know what they’re doin’ by the look usually.” he came over, setting a beautiful plate of pasta in your lap and sitting down with the small pot he used for sauce, that he’d mixed the noodles in half hazardly and twirled some of the noodles on the fork, taking a bite. 

Classic Carmy, serving you a Michelin Starred dish, and eating the leftover scraps. 

That was the night you really fell for him. Especially after he did the same thing that he did the first time the two of you hooked up, put you first. Even if he didn’t want you to touch him, even if he was too shy to cuddle you before you fell asleep. You really felt your heart crack open for him.

The night of friends and family, though, you may as well have been a stranger. No matter what you did that night to get his attention, he fully ignored you and snapped at you, and everyone, to ‘pick up your fucking pace’. You had never had him snap at you like this. All you wanted to do was go joke around with Richie, maybe pull him into the dry storage for a quick makeout - but you couldn’t, not anymore. You missed him. You missed your old man, as much as he despised you calling him that, you adored the way he frowned and spanked you in response to the name, telling you ‘it’s already unfair when we go out they think y’my daughter’ 

When you had find out that Carmy had been locked in the freezer - your first instict was to rush to the back of house, comfort him- tell him it would all be fine, but you knew you couldn’t do that, and it would piss him off if you did so. You were his well kept secret, and he wanted you to stay that way. You had found out from Syd, who was really the only one to know about your short-lived relationship - since Carmy seemed to be more open with her then he did with you - his supposed girlfriend. 

“He’s ok, he’s fine- look, just keep pace, ok, me and Richie will handle this - bring the plates from tinas station to table 11, ok?” she told you calmly, giving you a quick reassuring hug before whisking you off to do your job. You did as she said, putting on a smile and bringing the food out to the table, setting it down the way you’d been trained and telling them what was what before telling them to enjoy and heading back to the kitchen to pick up another round of food to bring out to an awaiting hungry group of patrons.

Three hours later, when the night was finally coming to a close- you decided it was a good time to go check on Carmy. All the guests had left, and it was just the staff at this point. You knew that the fire department was on the way since Richie had let everyone know they’d been called, and Syd was back there trying to calm him down. What you didn’t know, was Syd had told Carmy to hold on for a moment because she was gonna go tell her father goodbye and thank him for coming, so he had been left all alone in the back of house, in the freezer.

You walked in, hearing him rambling as you walk up, listening closely to what he was saying.

“Like- Like right? Right?” he chuckled a bit “W-what the fuck was I thinkin’? Huh? The fuck was I thinkin’, Syd? Like - Like I was gonna be in- “ he laughed a bit “In- i-in a relationship- er- er some shit? I-I’m a fuckin- a fuckin psycho- thats thats why, thats why I’m good at what I do, thats how I operate, Syd, you wanna be the best? I am the fucking best, because I didn’t have- any- any of this - this fuckin…bullshit! Right? I-I- I could focus, and I could concentrate, and I- I had a fuckin’ routine, an- and I had fuckin cell reception! An-” he paused. You felt your heart crack, tears filling your eyes,

You were bullshit to him.

He continued, “I dont need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I dont need to- to receive, any amusement- or - or enjoyment. Y’know? And I’m…I’m completely fine, with that. Because absolutely no amount of good, is worth how fuckin’ shitty this feels. S’just…a complete waste of my fucking time.” 

You let out the sob you were holding back, gasping a breath, shaking your head and with a trembling voice, you say, “I’m really sorry you feel this way, Carmy…” before rushing out of the kitchen, hot tears running down your cheeks. You grab your bag from behind the counter, slamming into richie on the way out of the restaurant and he stopped you, grabbing your arm. 

“Hey- hey kid” he said, and the soothing sound of his voice made you break down fully, starting to sob so hard you couldnt see straight, collapsing into his chest. 

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry for being so shitty- I- I dont deserve you” you cried, hugging him tightly, “I have-” you took a gasping breath and look up at him “I- i’m done- tell Carmy that I’m done here….” you let go of him and rush out, quickly walking towards the train station the wind whipping your wet cheeks. You pulled out your phone, calling Carmy to leave him a voicemail. 

“Hey, uh…I don’t know why you fuckin’ asked me out- but uh- fuck you, carmy. Youre right- you deserve nothing- youre a coward, and an asshole. I hate you for making me love you” you hung up, shoving your phone in your pocket, not even caring the admission that slipped past your lips as you stomped up the stairs to the L platform.

Back at the restaurant, Richie storms into the kitchen, slamming his palm on the freezer door. “Yo- the fuck did you just do?” he asked, voice laced with anger.

“I-I don’know. I-I don’ know what the fuck she heard. Dunno” Carmy said, voice indifferent to the entire thing, which just made anger bubble in his chest at his lack of caring. Richie slams his hand into the door harder, making Carmy jump a bit.

“No- asshole, I said - the fuck did you just say, to that fuckin’ girl?” Richie repeated, getting louder now.

“Richie” Carmy said, sighing to himself.

“Richie? Richie What- Tell me! Tell me, What the fuck. What the fuck did you just say to that fuckin girl, Carmen” 

“Will you just shut the FUCK UP AND GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE PLEASE!” Carmy shouts, not having any part of being scolded when his fingertips felt like ice. 

“Oh- oh yeah, I’ll get y’the fuck outta there, Donna” Richie mocked, so angry he didnt care how deeply he cut in the moment.

“The fuck you just say t’me?” Carmy challanged

“I-” Richie sighed, knowing he just took things too far and dropped his head back in annoyance.

“N-no- Richie- What the fuck did you just say?” Carmy asks, louder this time, Pounding on the door when he didnt get a response. 

“Yo- cousin, cousin look - I don’t know why you gotta fuck up everything good in your life. That girl is nice, shes a good fuckin friend t’you” Richie explained, completely oblivious to everything that had really been going on. 

“Are you -” Carmen laughs “Are you fucking kidding me right now?!” he spits, the comparison to his mother causing fire to race through his veins.

“No- No i’m not, cousin, someones gotta tell you this shit, ‘eh? First fuckin friend after comin’ home you go ahead and make her cry?!” Richie scolded.

“FUCK YOU! Fuck you Richie!” Carmy yells, running his hands through his hair,

“Ohhh yea, here we go, fuck me, yeeeaaa Carm” he mocked him.

“Yeah! Yeah fuck you fuckin loser. You wouldn’t have shit without me. So fuck you!” carmy shouted at him, his breath coming out in large frosty puffs in front of him.

“Oh-” Richie chuckled, a twinge in his chest that Carmy was willing to cut so deep so quickly “Yeah- yeah tough guy” he mocked, voice getting meeker

“Yeah! Yeah! You- Or y’fuckin kid- fuckin loser - only reason you have anything is me!” Carmy roars, slamming on the door “so ye’ cousin, fuck you!” 

“My KID? Y’gonna talk about my KID? Well at least I have a fuckin kid! What d’you have other then a restaurant, jackass!” he yelled back.

“YEAH? I HAVE THE GIRL YOU BEEN FUCKIN’ FOR THE PAST YEAR, MORON. Why you think she dropped you so fast? Huh? You fucking idiot! She chose me- so ye’. I am the reason you have what you have AND I’LL TAKE WHATEVER I FUCKING WANT. FUCK YOU” He yelled through the door, kicking it with his chefs clog.

Richies mouth dropped, stepping back and feeling as if he’d just been stabbed in the heart. “What?” he said, believing his ears were playing tricks on him, how could Carmy do such a thing to him?

“Yeah- yeah. She chose me, and guess what, I fucked her because i wanted to show you I could. Y’fuckin prick” he sat down on one of the boxes of frozen steaks, rubbing over his face roughly. Richie raced out of the kitchen, telling Syd he was ‘done’ and quickly taking out his phone to call you. 

Back in the freezer, Carmens phone buzzed. He looked at it, seeing a voicemail from you that finally pushed through. When he heard your sad, broken voice, admit that he’d caused you to hate him by his behaviour made him chuck his phone against the freezer wall so hard that the screen shattered.

Never so badly had he ever fucked up, and by doing so he lost the best thing to ever happen to him.

[sageispunk]

thinking about how richie finds out ur a squirter....

warnings: 18+ minors dni, unprotected piv intercourse, mention of foreplay, richie likes when reader is loud and verbal, he's a damn tease, missionary, mention of overstimulation, begging, outercourse, Big D*ck Richard Jerimovich, mention of pubes, slight pain kink (scratching, pulling hair mentioned), praise praise praise, no specific age/gender/race mentioned, breeding kink, dirty talk, he talks u through it, mention of cumplay, just smth i wrote at 2am last night off the joint/penjamin combo ;)

he's fucking you sooooo good in missionary, tall body over you, almost cradling your body as he thrusts in and out and in and out

you've been dripping since y'all started (an hour ago--the man loves foreplay), but you can hear it now, the squishing and the squelching of him sliding in and out of your warmth, it's his own personal slice of heaven

he loves it, hearing everything-- your moans and breaths, your wetness, the slight creak of the bed as he fucks you into complete oblivion

you can barely talk, the only words exiting your mouth a combination of his name and unfinished curses

"richieee..." you crane your neck down, wanting to get a look at where your bodies met

"hmm?" he doesn't smirk but you can tell by the look in his eyes that he's proud of the way he has you, so fucking wet and needy, in his bed, on his sheets, so goddamn beautiful all spread out for him

wanting to see you fall apart just a little more, he thrusts into you one good time before pulling out, blushing at the whiny moans that immediately spill from your mouth

his hands are on your hips for a quick second before he pulls your body closer to him, leaving you more flat against the mattress

his hands travel to the backs of your knees, pushing them forward till you're folded in half underneath his slim build

the new angle gives you a better view of your glistening cunt, slightly swollen and throbbing with need and the next thing you know, both of you are watching in a silent haze as richie drags his throbbing cock up and down your folds

"please, richie, pleaseee..."

your eyes remain on his cock between your lips, the tip nudging your clit every time he moves his hips, teasing you nearly to death

"what's that, baby?"

you cry out as he taps your clit with his cock, your body jerking under him from the overstimulation

"fuuuuck, pleaseee..."

"what do you need, baby? hmm?"

his forehead is on yours, bright blue eyes shining down on you as the two of you hold that eye contact, his cock still resting on top of your clit, twitching ever so slightly

the only thing you can focus on at this point is his face, so close, right in front of yours-- his scruffy beard that you loved to feel against your face (and your thighs), his big, sharp nose that you loved feeling when he nuzzled into your neck at night, that furrow in his eyebrows that he always made when concentrating really hard on a sports game or a new recipe

and then finally his lips, when the magic words fall from them and into your ever-so inviting ears

"c'mon baby, let me hear you, i need to hear you say it.."

you don't want to hold back anymore, not with those big, blue puppy eyes staring down into your soul, so let it all spill from your lips

"please fuck me, richie, i need you, please, PLEASE, i need it, i want to feel you.."

his eyes flutter shut when he hears, and you could feel the way his cock twitches on you one second before he pulls his hips back, thrusting forward and sliding deeply inside of your cunt

"fuc-" your words are cut off as you find yourself overwhelmed with ecstasy at this new position

richie is in you, deeper than ever, you swear that you can feel him in your belly

he's pushing all your buttons, places you'd never even reached before, all whilst keeping his forehead on yours, eyes trained on your face for signs of what makes you feel good

one of your favorites, he notices, is when he rolls his hips slowly as he thrusts inside, his tip kissing a spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back into your head, while his curly pubes rub against your clit, creating the most torturing yet delicious friction you've experienced, ever

so he does that, over and over and over until you are gripping onto his shoulders, eyes watery and voice shaking, as you beg and beg, for what? who knows

his hips slam into yours, harder and harder as you feel yourself creeping up to your peak, your toes curling beside his head, and your fingernails digging into his shoulders

the pain was something both of you enjoyed, you loved to give a little pain to show how good your partner made you feel, and richie loved to recieve your scratches and your tugs at his hair because it showed him that he was doing his job and he was doing it damn well

your body tensed the closer you got, including your eyes, which clamped shut as you anticipated your upcoming eruption

he could tell it wasn't helping, you were focusing too hard on when it would hit you, that you just prolonged it even further

with two hands on your cheeks, he whispers above you-- "baby...fuck, baby, look at me, let me help you.."

although his pace doesn't let up, you allow your eyes to open up again, focusing in on the sight above you, your beautiful man staring down at you as he fucks your pussy like his life depends on it

"there y'go, mama, keep those pretty eyes on me, okay?"

you nod, using every bit of strength to keep your eyes open and focused on his as his cock slides in and out of your pussy, your muscles tightening around him, bringing him right up to that edge with you

"so fucking beautiful, baby, i swear t'god... if i could have you like this all day, every fuckin' day, i would... i would never leave this goddamn bed again.."

your pussy clenches around him at those words, and he hisses, teeth slightly bared as he tries to hold back his own release, wanting you to reach yours first

"cum for me, baby, you're so close, i can feel it, soooo fuckin' tight, it's like this pussy was made just f'me..."

a blinding white light hits your eyelids as your body begins to tremble underneath richie, your ears barely registering his words of encouragement for you

something you did recognize was a new feeling of warmth spilling down your inner thighs, down your folds, soaking the sheets below you

"oh, shit.." richie's eyes were no longer focused on your face, now they trained themselves on your cunt and how it gushed out again and again around his cock, pulsating as you came, hard

just a few moments later, richie empties himself deep inside you, filling you up with his warm seed, cock twitching with each spurt

"goddamn it, jesus.." his eyes close as he slows down, not wanting you to overstimulate either of you too much

you're still in another world, only slightly coming down from the high that richie and his cock supplied you mere minutes ago

richie stays inside you, laying kisses on your forehead, cheeks, jaw and lips as you stir back to consciousness

when your eyes open again, he's running his fingers along your scalp, nails lightly scratching and soothing you, like he always does

"when were you gonna tell me you're a squirter, huh?" a smirk graces his face this time and you grin in response, watching him sit back and pull out of your pussy, waiting for the moment that his cum begins to drip out of you (only for him to fuck it back inside with his long, skilled fingers)

[softly-sirius]

Would you love me if I was a worm? (gn)

Currently on Shift: Carmen, Richie, Sydney, Marcus, Fak, Sweeps, Tina, Luca

Carmen

“...What?”

Would check your temperature

Make you drink a whole glass of water and sit you on the sofa

When he’s confirmed that you are not ill or dehydrated he’d be concerned

Wonders all night if he isn’t showing you enough love

Brings you flowers the next day and gummy worms too 

Richie

“Fuck No!”

Asks if you would love him as a worm

When you say yes he calls you gross

Why’s he smiling though

Sydney

“I can’t kiss a worm though?”

She probably ate a worm as a kid on a dare once

Now cannot stand them

Hates the texture, but would try to get over it for you

Marcus

“Of course I’d love you, I’d take good care of you,”

Would make you a little home, 

Keep you in the nicest tank

Decorate it seasonally

Would take you on walks sitting on his shoulder

Would knit you a blanket :’)

Fak

“Fuck yes, can I be a worm too?”

He’s whipped,

As long as you two can be together? He’s down

Besides, the life of a worm, coiling himself around your matching worm body? 

Sounds pretty good to him

Sweeps

“What’s the scenario here?”

Asks you so many questions

Why you were turned into a worm?

When did you meet?

Is it a Princess and the Frog scenario?

Can he turn you back?

Comes up with a whole story of how he would save you from your worm curse

Tina

“What is wrong with you?

Will not even entertain the thought

Even if you ask again she’s not answering

Starts mumbling under her breath in Spanish

Not caring if you can understand her or not

Continues her prep to ignore you

Luca

“You’d be a cute worm”

Would kiss your forehead (kinda condescendingly)

You notice he’s avoiding the question

You open your mouth to ask him again

He puts a pastry in your mouth 

His distraction is a success this time

[murdrdocs]

inspired by richie saying pussy; MDNI 18+ w/ RICHIE JERIMOVICH

"stop thinking about pussy,” is what richie tells one of the faks. you forgot which one. they’ve been around the bear so much lately, one after the other, multiplying day by day, that you can barely even remember the first fak you met.

but that’s not the problem. the problem is richie’s hypocrisy.

he’s telling the faks—neil and … tommy?—to focus on the task at hand. and richie’s focused, now he is. but you know he often finds himself in ted’s (that has to be his name) position.

you’ve seen it. he spaces out but not in the way that he does when he gets upset. it’s different. his eyes lifting up instead of casting down. his gaze blurry, unfocused, but so direct, like he’s seeing something play out just off in the distance.

you didn’t know what at first. it could’ve been anyone guess what had richie’s lips pulling up at the corners before he disrupted the gesture by flicking his tongue over his lips. but you only know now because he told you once.

when he was sliding in real good, slow and deliberate, and he was just talking to you, mouth running a mile a minute like he had no control over it.

“been fuckin’ thinking about this pussy all day.” the admission came so easily from him. he said pussy so smoothly, even though the word has a certain vulgarity to it.

he kept going, picking up the speed of his hips and doing the same with his words. “cousin was yelling my ear off all day, asking me where my head was.” he nodded down at your cunt, blue eyes staring intently at where you were sucking him in. you could feel it happening, you didn't even need to look to confirm it.

“my heads been here, all fucking day. look at that, the way you—fuck, such a natural, sweetheart. so good, you’re so good all the time. got me fuckin’ mesmerized. gonna be thinking about this for the next week, at least.”

so yeah, richie’s a hypocrite. because he’s getting upset at ted for thinking about pussy all day when you know he’s done the same. you still catch him doing the same and when you slap his shoulder and hit him with a harder, firmer, “chef”, he only snaps out of his daze to smirk down at you. and that singular look communicates everything you need to know.

[wtfsteveharrington]

Richie - a kiss to convince the other to stay

contains: mentions of sex, ass grabbing, kissing, richie being an old man (affectionately)

"No, Richie. I don't have to work tomorrow and your alarm is going off in -" You peek over his shoulder, squinting at the alarm clock, "Five hours. I wanna sleep in until at least like 10 tomorrow in peace."

Richie makes a mocking sound of wonder. "10? Baby the day is practically over by then." It's so cliche, a groan being pulled deep out of your chest as he teases you. Something only a person of his age would think is funny.

"Richard Jerimovich! I mean it!"

His warm, rough hands are cupping your face as tenderly as he can. Thumbs stroking over your cheekbones while he looks into your eyes, trying to decide what to pull to keep you in bed. "Stay with me."

Not a question, but a statement. You can still see the playful glint in his eye from his poor attempt at teasing and it's driving you crazy. And it's hard to even consider leaving this bed - Your boyfriend sprawled out under you with just a pair of boxes slung low on his waist.

Your resolve was... Weak.

There's a sigh falling from your lips and Richie knows he's winning you over. "Richie..." It comes out as a pathetic little whine against your will. His hands slide down your face, down your arms, all the way down your body until he's gripping the fleshy part of your ass. Dragging your body as close to his as he possibly can.

He's leaning in now, his lips ghosting over yours. "I'll be real quiet in the morning, promise. Get you all tucked in before I go." A kiss is pressed to the corner of your mouth, "Keep the lights turned off while I change." Another kiss to the other corner of your mouth, "Keep the blinds closed. Won't even make coffee here. I'll get some on the way in so you don't have to smell it." This time a kiss is gently pressed to your lips with a content hum coming from him.

"Fuck..." It's your turn to lean in as you steal another kiss, dragging your lips against his while you arch your ass back into his touch.

Richie grins against your mouth, giving your ass a playful squeeze. "C'mon, Honey. Just tell me you wanna stay and we'll get all curled up for bed." He knows he has you.

So when you push away from him, sitting up in bed and start to drop the very fake threat of 'No, I should go...' suddenly he's sitting up so fast besides you. A hand on the back of your neck as he pulls you into another kiss with a touch more passion this time. His other hand grabs at your waist as he adjusts the two of you so he can press your back into the mattress while he hovers over you.

He's kneeling between your legs, rocking his hips into yours as he languidly kisses you. Taking his time now that you're pinned under him, just a mess of tongues and needy moans.

You pull back to catch your breath and Richie gets to admire the flush along your cheeks. "Looks pretty cozy down there s'all I'm saying."

"Fuck! Fine! But if you wake me up then you don't get to see me naked for a week and I'm so serious." You could do that... Right? Probably not. But it helps emphasize your point at least.

Richie scoffs, rolling his eyes at your empty threat. "Yeah, sure."

---

He does an excellent job of not waking you up in the morning. Takes a few minutes to appreciate your blissful state while you sleep even. Tucking you in before he goes just like he promised.

And the laugh he lets out at 10:37 AM at your 'Just woke up I've never been happier' text could be heard around the block.

[mcondance]

human nature. richie jerimovich.

richie’s got a thing for making you squirt. orgasm after orgasm, he pushes his cock into you, and he couldn’t bring himself to care about the mess you’ve made.

it’s perfect to him, the way you wet his cock, the way your eyes roll back and you tense up right before you let go for him, the way you curl up into him as you gush out around him.

it’s in his nature, you guess, to want more and more, to coast your electric body up and down and press himself flush against you until you spill out onto him, pull him tight and shake in his arms. instinctual, maybe, to crave the sweetest release, to wish for the unleashing of a fountain flowing for his hard work, his angles and pushes and sweet, sweet words.

he’s tied to your pleasure, to this facet of it, the trust and vulnerability it takes to indulge in something as messy as this; he’s tied to the filthiness of it all. so far from divine and yet right there.

every time, he takes his time, knows his end goal takes patience and pleasure, kisses against the right spot, the softness to let you experience the ebbs and flows of it until you feel the push, that pressure inside you so overwhelming you could panic, you could push him off you and stop what you know is coming. but you don’t, because he’s right there.

“i feel it.” he nods, voice earnest and soft. “i feel it. le’me have it, baby. swear i got you.”

and he does. when you let it hit you, when richie’s work comes to fruition, it’s good. the pressure splits, you squeeze around him and gush, eyes squeezing shut as you grip at his back, your other splayed over his arm. he loves you through it all, gazing upon you while he revels in what he’s done.

you’re the image of perfect curled up under him whimpering his name, shaking and shivering with the goodness of it all. wetness coats him and you, and it’s all he wants, his hand on the side of your face to caress and soothe, to keep you here with him.

and he starts again, and he’ll keep going until he’s had his fill. he can’t help it.

[tropes-and-tales]

You Talk Too Much

(From the "Shut Up" kiss starter prompts, found here)

CW:  Richie being Richie, swearing.

Word Count:  1740

AN:  Requested by @winchestershiresauce

You don’t smoke, but it doesn’t stop you from escaping out the back door of The Beef near the end of shift to catch your breath and relax.  There’s only a few lingering customers out front, and  you are exhausted and frazzled.

It’s quiet out back.  You love your job—really, you do—but it can be a lot.  A lot.  It’s loud and hectic and a million things happen at once.  Sometimes the chaos of the day is just limited to the customers flowing through for classic Chicago fare.  Sometimes the chaos is more, well, chaotic:  a burst pipe, a failed health inspection, an impromptu Ball-Breaker tournament to help breakeven for the week.

You love your job.  You love The Beef, and you love your coworkers, but sometimes you need quiet.

The neighborhood mellows out at night, at least in the little nook behind the restaurant.  The noise of the city—the traffic, the sirens, the wind off the river and lake—falls away to a murmur, background noise that builds and then breaks over you in gentle waves.  You sit on an overturned milk crate and pull your knees up, wrap your arms around your knees.  You lean back against the brick wall and shut your eyes.  You breathe deep, steadying breaths and feel your heartbeat calm.  Hours and hours of chaos, and now you can throttle down a bit.

It lasts all of a minute.

You hear the door squeal open on its hinges, then hear it slam shut a moment later.  You don’t bother to open your eyes; you can guess who it is.

A beat later, someone settles onto another milk crate beside you with a grunt.  You hear the ritual sounds of a veteran smoker:  the shaking of a soft pack, the quiet snick of the lighter, the first harsh inhale, the pleased sigh as the nicotine hits the bloodstream.

Richie.  The Beef’s resident asshole.  The utter bane of your existence when you started months ago.  He had bullied you relentlessly, a hazing that extended beyond gentle workplace pranking.  Richie, you came to find out, hates change, and you came into his life in the midst of immense change.

The loss of his best friend who was more like a brother.

The loss of his family when his wife divorced him.

The loss of his restaurant, his beloved dysfunctional sandwich shop as Carmy slowly started to change the system.

But as the months passed, Richie softened towards you.  You proved too stubborn to give in to his bullying, and at some point, you became part of the landscape of The Beef.  You became part of the family, and Richie eased off the bullying. 

His teasing turned sweeter, almost:  he calls you sweetheart now, sometimes babe, and when he needs to get past you in the tight quarters of the restaurant, he lays a light hand on your shoulder or your back as he squeezes past you.

Then came the stories.  When it’s quiet, when the doors aren’t open yet and you’re just prepping for the day, Richie regales you with stories.  So many stories.  Stories about his time at West Lawrence Avenue.  Stories about tearing up the town with Mikey.  Stories about the Goddess of Agriculture and Bill Murray.  Richie always leans in close and tells you these stories, often repeating tales you’ve already heard, but just as you never confronted him about the bullying, you never confront him about his repetitious storytelling.

Richie, you guess, is a complicated man.  A man with a lot of feelings who perhaps doesn’t know how to express them.  From the caustic bully sneering at you about disrupting the “delicate ecosystem” of The Beef… to the smiling charmer as he regales you with his Bill Murray story.

You open your eyes enough to squint and confirm that it’s Richie sitting beside you, as if the scent of his cologne isn’t confirmation enough.  But it’s him.  Visual confirmation obtained.  You take in his lanky form neatly folded to fit on the milk crate, one leg kicked out straight and the other folded up near his chest.  His profile illuminated by the flickering light near the dumpsters. 

The man isn’t entirely unappealing.  Once you get past the crusty layers of asshole behavior, the sarcasm and inferiority complex and refusal to feel his feelings, he’s actually a good man.  Loyal to a fault.  Loving father.  The sort of man to assemble his own family of friends and misfits, who then defends that family to the death.

But too chatty sometimes.  Like now.

Because after the first deep drag of his cigarette, he starts talking.  “I ever tell you about the time me and Mikey were at Ceres?”

You bite the inside of your mouth to stop from smiling.  “Yeah, you did.”

“Place was packed with Blackhawk fans—”

“Because Denis Savard just got inducted into the hockey hall of fame,” you fill in for him.

“Chelios was there,” he continues, like he hasn’t even heard you.  “I mean, the place was fucking packed—”

On he goes.  On and on and on.  The quiet lull of the city noise falls away and all you can focus on is Richie’s voice, the cigarette husky quality of it, and you like his voice, you love his stories because he loves telling them, but you just want quiet right now.

“Richie—”

“And I feel this tap on my shoulder—”

“Rich—”

“And it’s Bill fucking Murray!  And he’s like—”

“Richie, c’mon—”

“He’s like, ‘what are you doing?’  And I tell him, I say—”

You don’t know why you snap.  The man literally made your life a living hell when you started at the restaurant, but you never once snapped.  Never fought back, only shrugged and let the insults roll of your back.  You don’t know why you snap now, and you don’t know quite why you snap the way you do.

Because you don’t yell at him or smack him.  Richie goes on and on with his story, his face lit up at the happy memory he shared with Mikey, and he’s gesturing with his hands, his half-burnt cigarette forgotten as he talks and glances at you to see if you’re listening, if you’re impressed with his story, and maybe that’s what makes you snap.  Maybe you have a sudden revelation, like a lightning bolt out of the sky.

Maybe Richie keeps telling you these stories because he wants to impress you.  Maybe his close-talking, his mild pet names for you, his light touches as he walks past you…maybe you understand it all in a split second.  Maybe it took a mild Chicago night, a quiet moment out back broken by this man who glances at you shyly to see how his story is landing.

So you snap.  You reach out one hand and gather a fistful of his navy blue t-shirt, and you haul him halfway to you.  You meet him the rest of the way, and the man is still talking when you kiss him.  It happens that fast.

Which makes the kiss awkward for a split second.  You’ve caught him unawares, mid-sentence, and your mouth stills his words.  He freezes for the split second it takes him to catch up to what’s happening, but then he kisses you back.  He tastes like cigarettes, and beneath that you can taste vanilla, and you smile because you can guess that he’d been sneaking into Marcus’s area and helping himself to the cakes Marcus had been working on all day.

But it’s quiet again.  You’ve stoppered Richie’s words, and the earlier calm would fall over you if your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest at what you’ve done.

It’s Richie who breaks the kiss.  After a long beat of silence, a long moment of your mouth on his, the shyest bit of deepening the kiss—opening your mouth against his, breathing him in, but not any further than that.  He breaks the kiss but doesn’t move very far from you, and when you look at him, you can see his bright blue eyes staring at you.

“What, uh…”  He clears his throat in that embarrassed way he has.  “What was that for?”

“You talk too much,” you tell him.

“Thought you liked my stories.”

“I do.  Ninety percent of the time, I love your stories.”

“And the other ten percent?”

“I just wanted a bit of quiet.  It was a long day.”

You release your grip on his shirt, and you see where you’ve stretched the fabric.  You try to smooth it out, run your hand over his upper chest where you grabbed him, and the gesture makes him huff out a heavy breath.  The realization of what you’ve done washes over you, and suddenly you feel horrified.  It would have been less embarrassing to have snapped at him all those months ago, slapped him or yelled in his face.  Instead, you kissed him, and now he’s staring at you with those blue eyes…

“Sorry,” you mutter.  “I shouldn’t have—”

He’s gentler when he stills your words with his mouth.  He doesn’t haul you to him by your shirt; instead, he wraps a gentle hand around the back of your neck and steadies you as he leans in.  As he kisses you.  His lips are soft against yours—it’s the softest kiss you’ve ever received in your life, and from someone like Richie Jerimovich who stumbles through his own life like a bull in a china shop.  Who knew he could be so careful? 

You break the second kiss, and you try to find some words—to finish your apology to him, to say something cool or funny to break the spell of the moment—but Richie hushes you.  He doesn’t let you get any more words out, and he pulls you closer to him.  He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him, and then you feel him press a kiss against the top of your head as he tucks you against him.

“Don’t say anything,” he tells you in his low voice.  “Let’s just have a bit of quiet, then.”

The two of you sit in silence, letting the sounds of the city fill in the quiet between you.  Except for your own heart, hammering in your ears.  And except for Richie’s heart, beating right under your ear in the same, excited cadence.